"DEATH GOES BY 'BUS"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 25 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 XV. Continued. ‘‘Where did you stay overnight?” Morrison Sharpe was quick to take up the threads. ‘‘Find out." ‘‘You must tell some time; why not tell me. It may be important. Hang it all, you don’t want to be seriously implicated in this case, do you?” Young smiled wanly. "Seems to me that I've no choice. All your efforts are directed to getting me’ deeper in the mire." “Aren’t you out of your depth already?” “Yes. Now leave me alone.” “Maxley tapped his companion on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. ‘This chap's like an oyster. One of these days we’ll prise him open.” Outside the room he betrayed slight traces of excitement. "We must get to the bottom of this," he said. “Young has been stalking too much. Nobodj does that unless there’s something more than a reputation, already bruised, at stake." "Why should you bother?" Mi Sharpe asked. "You’ve a prisoner already under lock and key. Don’t tell me you’re beginning to have doubts." "I wouldn't go that far. The police case is not yet completed, and every witness will be wanted.” “So I should imagine.” “Admitting I'm not so sure as I might be, what would you have to say?’ “Nothing of any consequence. Open confession is good for the soul.” “I only wish Huntley Young thought the same.” "My dear Superintendent, I imagine [ he was about to unburden himself) when you rushed me out of the room." “What?” “Perhaps that is a slight exaggeration. But I was going to ask him rather a pregnant question.” “Then let’s go back and do it.” Maxley led the way back to the room even more precipitately than he left it. They burst in so awkwardly that the sick man looked really startled. “Back again,” he snarled. “Didn’t I tell you there was nothing else to be learned from me?” “Only one more thing to ask,” Mr Sharpe retorted. “Carry on then and perhaps I can sleep afterwards.” “What’s the first train out of Bellham in the morning?” “Same as the bus —8.45.” “Thanks!” “Is that all? Why do you want to know?” Mr Sharpe screwed up his face thoughtfully. “One never knows,” ne answered meditatively. “Information like that is always valuable.” White though he had been before, the sick man was now positively ghastly. He slipped back among the pillows. “Hullo.” Maxley exclaimed, “he's fainted. We’ve talked him into a relapse. Rather cruel, isn't it, just to find out the time of a train?” Mr Sharpe wagged an admonitory finger. “Catching the 8.45 necessitates getting up very early in the morning. I’ve tried it, often enough, but mostly I end up with the 9.30 'bus . . . Here, shove this smelling bottle under his nose while I massage his hands." “Explain that about the bus,” Maxley said, swaying the pungent ammonia gently under the nostrils of the patient. “Is it necessary? I thought the duty of a detective was to detect. Ah, well, it isn't my business to point out that rail travel is much quicker than by road. You could leave Bellham station at a quarter to nine, get to Colborough and do quite a lot of business before the bus arrived. And then you could pick up that conveyance at the Market Place at 9.30 en route to Netherton.” Mr Huntley Young’s gurgle was not an expression of mental anguish, but of acute physical discomfort occasioned by partial revival into a world of choking chemicals. Maxley was so intent on following the argument that he had been holding the smelling bottle remorselessly under the nostrils of the sick man. Young’s violent return to consciousness created' a diversion. “Go away," muttered the patient. “Go away! I'm poisoned! I'm choking!" For a man who had essayed to hasten his own departure from this troubled planet so short a time previously he seemed to be unduly concerned for his well-being. “Shut up!” ordered the Superintendent roughly. He was angry because his brain refused to sort out the significance of the train and bus times while his hands were engaged in other labours. "Can't you see I’m ill. All this talk is making me worse." "According to the doctor, you're not in very desperate straits,” Maxley retorted. "If you wore I'd have had you removed to hospital. You're lucky to be left at this place." “With your watchdog constantly in attendance.” “Routine —purely routine. Attempted suicide is a serious offence, you know," Young looked sheepish. "I'd forgotten all about that. Look here, I want to tel) you the truth. That I was at Bellham. not Colborough. I stayed at the Swan with Two Necks. They do have waiters there.' The last phrase was said with a sly glance at Mr Sharpe, who tool: advantage of the occasion to get in some inquiries which he seemed to think important, though Maxley did not at first, realise their import. “How many times have -you stayed] at Bellham?" i "Never before. It is unimportant" "For your business?”

“Exactly.” "But this isn't your territory, is it? According to Messrs Sillingway and Marlowe your connections are far away from here.' "That is correct now. Once I covered this area. I —l met the lady you already know about at that time.” "I see. Ever stayed at the Golden Lion?’ “At Colbrough? Yes! But too long ago to have remembered that fact about waitresses. A bad mistake on my part, wasn't it?” "Very, especially for such a quickwitted person as yourself.” "I'd seen it so often while waiting in the bus.” “Quite so. But why use that method of transport when there is a more convenient station at Netherton?” “There isn't. Colborough is a junction. From Stanville, the nearest place I visit on behalf of my firm, a branch line runs. You may as well know now that whenever I was in that town I took the opportunity to come here to see my—er—friend. .Often there was no connection by train, so 1 often used the road service. Is that clear?" “Perfectly, though it doesn't explain what you were doing at Bellham." "That's no crime!” "Winslow died rather than face the music," Mr Sharpe began musingly. “He was almost certain to be punished for a very serious crime. Imitative suicide is all very well as a theory, but it seems to me that your action betrayed a guilty knowledge rather more important than yet admitted.” Huntley Young made no reply. He remained regarding the speaker fixedly. "What about the wife?" asked Maxley. "1 haven’t left her out of account. Don’t you see that the possibility of his liaison must always have been present. Discovery wouldn’t drive him to desperation. Nor to hide. Such an action encourages further publicity,, not hushes it up.” Maxley took the little man aside and whispered eagerly. "Let me take up the examination.” "By all means. So far as lam aware I haven’t interfered with your doing so.” A barely perceptible gesture was enlightening. Mr Sharpe looked at the door and then back again. "Very well,” he said softly. “If you think it desirable. I understood the third degree was illegal in this country.” The police officer’s face was blankly expressionless. “Of course it is, sir. The rules of evidence are very strict, and . . .” "Spare me, Mr Maxley. I’ve heard all that before. Well, don’t forget your, er, victim is still ill. And while you're about it ask him who he saw off at Bellham station on Tuesday morning, June 17." "Now what are you getting at? Why didn't you put that question yourself?" "Perhaps I might have led up to it. But he wouldn’t have told under any circumstances.” He walked unhurriedly to the exit. There he turned to address some parting word. “Don't forget the rules of evidence, Superintendent. It would be just too bad if an innocent member of the general public like myself got an impression that they were not scrupulously observed. If you want me I shall be over the road having a drink. Much better than hanging about in draughty passages and it still wants 10 minutes to nine o'clock. With.a last slightly pitying glance at Huntley Young he departed. CHAPTER XVI. Sergeant Matthews was sitting alone at a table on which reposed a shining pint tankard when Morrison Sharpe strolled into the Smoke Room. Matthews' face lighted up at the entrance of the puzzle-master and he motioned to a seat beside him. "The reward of duty well, done, sir," he remarked. “I’ve earned this drink." “Been on the bus case?” “Yes, indeed! There are still a lot of loose ends to be picked up.” “So I suppose. The Superintendent and I have interested ourselves in a few of them this evening." "Really? He told me he was going off duty. That’s why I called in here, expecting to see him.” ‘Oh, he'll be along before closing time. At least, I think so. Just a matter of giving a materia) witness the works.” "I beg your pardon." "Americanese,, my dear Matthews. Evidently you haven't had time yet to take my advice and study the films." “Your meaning was clear enough, Mr Sharpe." "The little man chuckled. "But. you resent the implication. eh!' he said. "How you cling together when it comes to upholding the mysteries of the force. Mark my words, though, Maxley will manage to extract information beyond my powers of gentle persuasion. We'll accept the results gratefully without enquiring too closely into the methods employed.” Matthews drained his tankard and glowered. Clearly he did not like the suggestions that were being put forward. "Ever played shove ha'penny?" asked his companion surprisingly, after a strained silence. “Once or twice." ‘Then we'll leave word with the attendance that we have removed to the four-ale bar, where there is a board. Some people regard the pastime as a low one. Personally I find it stimulating." (To be Continued) .