Death Goes By Bus

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 69, Issue 76, 10 January 1949, Page 6

Death Goes By Bus

Serial Story

(Copyright)

By Leslie Cargill

CHAPTER XXY.

WHAT ABOUT YOUR WIFE?

For a man who fuffi 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 were I’d have had yop 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 tell you the truth. That night 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 took 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?”

“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 Colborough? 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’cl seen it so ol'ten while waiting 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 I 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 fixed ly

“What about the wife?” asked Max-

ley. “I 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 i'urtner 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 I am 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 Belham station on Tuesday morning, the seventeenth of June. “Now what are you getting at? Why didn’t you put the 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 ten minutes to nine o’clock.”

With a last slightly pitying glance at Huntley Young he departed.

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 J suppose! The Superintendent and I have interested ourselves in a few of them (bis evening.” “Really? He told me he was going off duty. That’s why I called in here, expecting 1o see him.” “Oli, he’ll be along before closing time. At least, I lliink so. Just a matter of giving a material 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.”

(To be Continued)