THE JUMPER

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20910, 15 September 1939, Page 5

THE JUMPER

By JOHN CREASEY

The Jumper Asks Questions A haggard, weary-eyed James Dawlish arrived at the Yampton Hotel just after three o'clock LiH morning. Crabber was on the premises, and the two plain- jl d ios men had necn brought from the pardon where Jensen had pu 3d them, and v.ere now stretched out on a ojd ::i one of lb 3 first lloor rooms. Mrs Handel!, a remarkable llgure in lu-; old-fashioned night clothes, was downstairs, white to the lips, and yet remarkably composed. The Jumper, who had known her for many years, appreciated her qualities. He gatherer* that neither she nor any of the servants could offer any explanation. “I was in bed just after twelve o'clock,” she told Dawlish. "and Miss Morgan had gone up a few minutes before me. 1 went straight to bed, and I did not hear a thing until one oi 1 the servants awakened me.” “What had awakened the servant?” asked Dawlish. “she slept at the top of the house,’’ Mrs Kendell told him, “and she saw someone leave, carrying a bundle. Naturally she thought that we had had a burglar, but remembering what you had told me abouL the danger with which Miss Morgan was surrounded, I immediately went to her room.” “Any sign of a struggle?” asked Dawlish. “Nothing at all,” said Mrs Rendell, tight-lipped, “but there was that sickly smell ” “The gas,” said Crabber, who was listening to the conversation, “seems like chlorine, but with a dash of phosgene added. I got it very clearly when I went up to the room.” Dawlish nodded without speaking. He knew the gas well enough to realise that it was not likely to have any fatal effect, although it would leave its victims very ill for two or three days. That was not the important point; the fact that Mayhew had contrived to get hold of the girl was the thing that appalled him. He could not imagine any motive behind the kidnapping. He was now beginning to get suspicious that Joan Morgan knew more than he believed. He was inclined to think that she might possess information that vitally affected Mayhew without being aware of it, for he was sure in his own mind that had she known anything likely to be of use to the police, she would have told him. Not for a moment did he believe that the girl was doublecrossing him. For that reason Crabber’s next words went closer to making Dawlish lose his temper than anything in the past few days. “It seems to me,” said the Chief Inspector, calmly, “that the girl’s been holding something out on us, Dawlish. For all we know, her father might have been in it too. When you come to think of it,” went on Crabber, without realising that Dawlish’s hands were clenching and unclenching, “that's a pretty sound theory. So far as we know, Morgan was murdered, but we don’t know why. Supposing he and his daughter were trying to put something across Mayhew? Morgan would have the opportunity, wouldn’t he? It would be a fairly safe game to blackmail the crook, but only up to a point. If you think straight you’ll see that Mayhew might easily have come to the end of his patience and, to stop the blackmail, killed Morgan. And then his daughter started —why,” exclaimed the Chief Inspector, who seemed genuinely convinced that he was on the right track, “it dovetails perfectly!” “Does il?” asked James Dawlish in a tight voice. “Just tell me how, Crabber?” CHAPTER XX. A Convincing Case Crabber was so excited with the theory which he had suddenly developed In his mind, that he failed to notice the tenseness in the other's voice. As he had been thinking, he had fallen for the overwhelming conviction that he was right, and on the surface of it, at least, he was able to put forward a reasonably convincing case. But nothing short of absolute proof would have convinced James Dawlish, who was worked up to such a pitch after the nerve-wracking adventures of the day, that it was all he could do to prevent himself from using his fist on Crabber’s jaw. Never had he felt such a dislike of that dour, thorough and apparently conscientious policeman. Dawlish was forcing himself to listen so that the full force of the other’s words should not break down his self-control. He used the words “apparently conscientious” with intention. No one who was really conscientious would get hold of a theory like this and talk about it with Mrs (Rendell in the room. “Can't you see!” cried Crabber. “Morgan and his girl were working the thing together. Morgan was killed, and naturally the first thing the

Thrilling Detective-Mystery Serial

■ daughter did was to come and see what she could find out.” “So that she could continue the blackmail?” demanded Dawlish. “For what other reason?” demanded Crabber. “Fve racked my brains Dawlish, for any reasonable explanation of the fact that she went to the Mile End Road and I couldn’t find one —but I don't think I've got much further to look.” “D-on’t you?” asked Dawlish. This time his voice was so heavily sarcastic that Crabber realised the change in it. “No, I don’t,” snapped the Chief Inspector. “And can’t you see it?” “If Mrs Rendell wasn’t here,” said the Jumper, “it would give me great pleasure, Crabber, to tell you just what I think of the crazy theory. I don't think I’ve heard anything so mad all the years Fve worked for the | police." Crabber was taken aback, but he stuck to his guns, made more dour by the Jumper’s opposition. “It’s a tenable theory, and it’s going in writing as soon as 1 get back to the Yard.” “Is it?” Dawlish was under better control of his feelings now, and he was inclined to see the funny side of the situation. Had Joan Morgan been | quite safe, the humour of it would have made him laugh, but against the temptation to laugh was the inevitable fact that she was missing. Ilis voice was easier now. “So it’s your opinion, Crabber, that Miss Morgan was mixed up with some blackmail business which her father started?” “it’s not a question of it being my opinion,” snapped Crabber, “it’s a theory, purely and simply.” “I could call it something else,” said Dawlish with a tight smile. “Anyhow —I'm going back to the Yard. Are you coming?” "I’m waiting to see if Willis or Robbins can give an yinformation," said Crabber. “That’s an idea,” said Dawlish, “but I think I’ll get back before they regain consciousness. I ” The door opened before he could continue, and he saw a detective-sur-geon enter. The man’s face was expressive, and his words came quickly. “Willis is conscious, sir,” he said, speaking to Crabber. “I’ll wait after all,” said Dawlish. Actually it was ten minutes before he left the hotel, but he might just as well have gone earlier. Willis could only tell him what had happened, and as the man had not even seen the attacker, he could give no information The fact that a taxi had been used was, of course, information of a sort, but mainly negligible. It was possible to trace a private car through London, but taxis were too common and very rarely distinguishable, one from another, by a casual glance. The Jumper returned to the Yard in the police car, however, which had brought him to Chelsea. He nodded several times, and felt so drowsy that his mind was clouded, and he did not even care a great deal when he learned that Sir William Davis was in his office, despite the lateness of the hour. He went to see the Assistant Commissioner immediately, and Davis was quick to realise that the Special Branch man was at the end of his tether. “Before you try to do anything else, Dawlish,” he said, “you must get some rest.” “I agree with you there, sir,” said the Jumper, with a valiant attempt to smile, “but there are just one or two things.” “Let me have them,” said Davis. Tracing the Daimler Dawlish wished simply to put one or two of the more usual activities of the Yard into operation in an effort to trace the Daimler which had been travelling towards Surrey and the South. Davis promised to look after everything, and within a quarter-of-an-hour Dawlish was being driven to his fiat. : He did not know that Davis, who was inclined to view the Mayhew affair with more seriousness tnan any series of crimes within the past few years, had detailed two plain-clothes men to watch the flat. Had Crabber known he might have been inclined to suggest that the Assistant Commissioner was suspicious of Dawlish, and was making sure the Special Agent did not do anything which was not known to the Yard. Actually Davis was concerned for the safety of a man whom he looked on as his best agent, and who, he knew, was so worn out that once he fell asleep nothing would be likely to awaken him. As it happened, no attempt was made to get at James Dawnsh that night, or the following morning. For Dawlish slept until after 12 o’clock, and when at last he awakened he was absolutely stiff. A brief examination of himself in front of his wardrobe mirror revealed the bruises about his arms and body, and Liie bandage about his head and hands made him look a scarecrow.

Despite these burns, he took a cold bath and felt immensely better after it. Ouside the sun was shining warmly, and he told himself that they were in for another breathless, hot summer day. Hl© would have preferred it if it had been thundery and cloudy. It was absurd, perhaps, but the sun irritated the Jumper—after telephoning the Yard and learning that nothing had been discovered—and seemed to heighten the depression which filled him. For he was compelled to admit that he had no idea now where he could find Mayhew or Brigham, and not only was the mystery still unsolved, but the girl’s life, or at least her future, was in jeopardy. Never before had James Dawlish felt so desperately anxious to work, and probably never before had he been faced with such a blank prospect. It was two o’clock before he showed himself at the Yard, and Crabber, he learned afterwards, was out working on the case. Sir William Davis had telephoned a message that he would not be at his office until late in the afternoon. “Any instructions for me?” Dawlish asked the sergeant who gave him this information. “None at all,” said the sergeant, with a smile. “You’ll be working, as usual, sir—in your own way.” “The trouble this time,” said Dawlish, bitterly, “is that I can’t see any way.” “You will,” said the sergeant, with unbounded confidence. It was a fact that the sergeant's words did more to cheer James Dawlish than anything else could have done. He left the Yard feeling more determined than ever, and with a picture of Joan Morgan very clear in his mind’s eye. * ATo E* Lioatmuedj.