Serial Story: EBONY TORSO

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 67, Issue 47, 5 December 1946, Page 7

Serial Story: EBONY TORSO

By JOHN C. WOODIWISS

(Copyright).

CHAPTER VIII. NARROW ESCAPE Cool as Hopton was, it took an extreme effort of will power to prevent him betraying himself at that moment; but sqmehow he managed to replace. the receiver with the nonchalant air of complete innocence. “Ah, I didn’t hear you come in, sir,’’ he said good humouredly. “Pity you weren’t nere a minute sooner: I’m afraid the person who wanted you has rung off.” “What a nuisance!” commented the padre in a sarcastic tone. “Won’t you sit down, Inspector, and enjoy the lire?” “Thanks,” replied the Detective. “I didn’t quite know what to do when your ’phone started to ring. Your servant is ,so deaf, isn’t lie?” “Yes, the poor fellow’s very afflicted,” agreed Galesbourne, sitting opposite his guest and fixing a pair of large brown eyes on his face in a most disconcerting manner; “still, deafness is sometimes an asset in a servant. That sounds unkind, but I hate people about me who listen to everything and carry bn a sort of domestic espionage. But I’m forgetting; who was the caller just now?” An anxious look had come into liis eyes belying the calmness with which he asked the question. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you, sir,” replied the Inspector truthfully. “It. was a man speaking in a foreign language.” “In a foreign language? Now 1 wondervwho that could have been?” pondered the Vicar, lowering his chin and gazing pensively at the carpet. “You couldn’t tell me if he was speaking in French or German, by any chance?” • “No, sir,” answered Hopton boldly. “It was no language I’ve ever heard. It sounded like a code of some sort.” “A code? How very odd, Inspector !’ v

The parson looked up sharply again as lie spoke. But, after a pause, lie began to chuckle. “I think I know who it was,” he said. “One of my young men playing a practical joke, no doubt. Dear me, that’s rather funny to think lie got the wrong person,” and he began to laugh in a dry, mirthless manner, which was an obvious pretence. “As long as it was nothing important; I don’t feel so guilty, sir,” Hopton returned. “Guilty? But why should you feel guilty, my dear sir? You did the only thing possible in the circumstances. We’ve nothing to hide here, I assure you.” The last sentence was said almost in the manner of a challenge but the wily detective was far too cunning to notice it. “Ah, well, sir/ ‘an honest heart’s worth a King’s ransom,” lie quoted with a gl'in. “That’s true,” agreed his host cordially. “’And you couldn’t understand a single word of this mumbo-jumbo, of course?” “I think it would be a clever man who could,” Hopton assured him. “I never heard such a lot of gibberish.” . ' Galesbourne leant hack and buist into a genuine .peal of laughter, , in which the detective imagined lie could trace a note of intense ,'elief. “I hope you made Smith, my servant, understand who you were without too much trouble, inspector. The poor old chap doesn’t mean to be difficult, of course, but his. deafness makes him rather troublesome at times. I’m really very attached to the old boy, and put up with him from motives of charity. He has an inveterate horror of spending the rest of liis day in the workhouse infirmary.” The show of kindess was a thought overdone, and quite failed to deceive Hopton’s experienced knowledge of psychology, but he decided to play the padre at his own game. “Very good of you, I’m sure, sir,” he replied in a carefully camouflaged tone of commendation. “The trouble with Smith is, that lie will chatter if he gets half a chance,” went on the Vicar. “I hope he didn’t attempt to—er—enterain you with a lot of his small talk?” The note of suspicion had crept back into his voice, and, instantly, Hopton was aware that the query meant far more to the questioner than he would have thought. “Oh, no, sir,” he replied with'a smlie. “On the contrary I thought him a bit too short. I couldn’t get more than a dozen words out of him.” “I’m delighted to hear it,” nodded the Vicar approvingly. “Recently I was obliged to speak to him-very forcibly on the subject—that is, as forcibly as one could speak to a man of his advanced age,- you’ll understand, inspector; and I’m glad to hear my remarks have borne fruit.”

GALESBOURNE’S DARING “Well, you needn’t worry about that, sir,” the detective assured him, drawing a mental picture as he spoke of the black weals on the trembling wrists. “Good!—Good!” chuckled the padre, taking down a box of Egyptian cigarettes from the mantlepiece. “You’ll smoke, won’t you, inspector?” “Pipe smoker if you don’t mind, sir,” answered Hopton taking his pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. “I never like cigarettes, particularly Egyptians.” “Just as you please, my dear sir. Light up by all means. I’ll tell you a secret; I really keep these Egyptian cigarettes for my young men, although I must admit that I enjoy ‘smoking them myself now and again. Puts'the boys at their ease if the vicar asks them to have a cigarette, I find, and stops ’em smoking on the sly. You’ll excuse* me if I put on my slippers, won’t you? My boots are rather damp, and I catch a chill so easily.” “Certainly, sir,” agreed the detective, lighting up while his host replaced the box and made a change in his footwear. “There, that’s better,” he smiled, taking up his former position in front of the fire. “Smith’s a long time making that coffee, isn’t he?” “Don’t worry about that, sir,” Hopton answered, puffina; away contentedly. “I’m sure happy for the moment.” “In that case we’ll give him a few minutes longer,” said Father Gales-

bourne. “I’m so pleased you called, inspector. I wanted to have a chat about this astonishing series of crimes. Do you think they’re the work of a criminal or have you decided to admit the possibility of the supernatural?” Hopton thought he detected an anxious note in his host’s last . questiori, and watched liis reactions carefully. “Quite frankly, I’ve not absolutely made up my mind on that point yet,” he replied evasively. “At the moment I feel they’re the work 'of a madman, or a very sane criminal trying to cover his tracks by- giving the crimes a supernatural touch.” The vicar shook his head decidely several times. “I don’t altogether agree,” he said. “During my work as parish priest I’ve come to have a wholesome respect for the supernatural.” “Oh, I’m not denying the possibility of such a thing,” his guest assured him. “But I’ve never come across a genuine case yet.” “There’s no doubt this unfortunate fellow Scutt had been initiated into the mysteries of Black’ Magic, Inspector,” the padre continued, without commenting on his guest’s objection. “He must have seen something very horrifying at the moment of dissolution for, though I’ve attended many death-beds, I never saw a face so tragically distorted.” “Yes, it was pretty grim,’ agreed Hopton shortly. “Then, having decided on that point, are we in order to rule out the possible presence of evil occult forces?” questioned Galesbourne, leaning forward earnestly. “I’ve thought the matter over for hours, but can discover no other explanation to fit the facts.” “I l’ather think we shall end by finding a much more ordinary solution,” he Detective assured him decidedly. “Although I must repeat, I haven’t definitely ruled out the occult theory yet.” The Rev. Galesbourne shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. “Well, I’m thankful I’m more or less above suspicion, Inspector,” he remarked after a short pause. “You know I’ve actually heard that certain evil-minded people in the parish have been good enough to accuse me of poor Scutt’s murder. I can assure you I shall take proceedings for criminal libel against such gossiping liars if I can prove their identity.” (To be Continued).