Death Goes By Bus

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 69, Issue 77, 11 January 1949, Page 6

Death Goes By Bus

I Serial Story

(Copyright)

Ky Leslie Cargill

CHAPTER XXVI. SHARPE PLAYS SHOVE-HA’PENNY The little man chuckled. “But you resent the implication, eh! lie 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.be 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 attendant 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.” . Followed by the bewildered Sergeant, he led the way to the almost hidden regions where the proletariat were permitted to purchase refreshment at a lower price than in the more exclusive quarters. Only a few customers were present, these being clustered at a long counter. In a quiet corner stood a polished slab of mahogany, neatly marked off in sections. Undisturbed by onlookers, the two men were soon engrossed in a fascinating contest. Morrison Sharpe kept up a running commentary as he flipped and manoeuvred the coin. Most of it was incomprehensible to Matthews, who did, however, realise that he was naming the pieces according to important figures in tiie ’bus case. “Click!” went the coins. “And that,” murmured the player, “clears the way for Huntley Young . . .” “This game is best with four players,” the Sergeant remarked as lie pegged the final score. “Anyway, you’ve done very nicely. But you wouldn’t have won so easily if it had been a foursome.”

Mr Sharpe clapped him on the hack. “That’s right, old man,” he said briskly. “You’ve hit it. Something’s missing. That idea kept worrying me all along. “Didn’t seem to cramp your style, sir.” “Oh, for the game. I wasn’t thinking of that. We’ve not got sufficient people in the more important business. Smith, Young, Gardopoulos • . . Who makes the fourth?”

“Puzzle—find the lady?” returned Matthews facetiously. “Many a true word spoken in—” began Sharpe when he was .interrupted by a stentorian “Time, gentlemen, please!” Simultaneously Superintendent Maxley came rushing into the bar. “I’ve got it,” he announced breathlessly. “Keep calm,” advised Mr Sharpe. “Your assistant told me two minutes before you arrived.” Sergeant Matthews gaped. “I don’t remember making any suggestion.” “No? Think again. The Superintendent wanted to know who Huntley Young saw at Bellham station.” “Well?”

“From his excitement I imagine lie has found the lady. The very staid Miss Hanson, presumably?” He looked at Maxley for confirmation. “How the devil did you know that?”

Mr Sharpe turned his head slightly. “One of the beauties of Shove Hapenny,” he explained. “Almost as good as planchette.” “Do you mean to tell me,” demanded the Superintendent, “that you arrived at that conclusion over a damnfool game, while I spent' a solid hour wheedling the information out of a paralysed oyster?” “Something of the kind. There are more ways than one, you know, of opening an oyster. Some use a knife blade—others, if I may say so, wait patiently until the creature comes out of its own accord. I trust you didn’t damage the shell through any roughness.” “Not a scratch. But tell me which method #ou employed.” “You see I don’t like oysters, so I left you the succulent dainty while 1 indulged in a diet of ale.”

“Bah!” spluttered Maxley.’ “I'm heartily fed up with your confounded conundrums. IE I wasn’t under am obligation, more or less, I’d kick you right out of this business. Unfortun.ately you’ve helped a darned sight too much.”

“Thank you! To-morrow I’ll call at your headquarters. By the ivay, what time did you say the interview with Miss Hanson is to take place?” “I didn’t say. You can’t come, anyway. As a layman you have no standing whatever.”

“Not even as representing Jeremy Withers?”

“Certainly not. And, if von must know, the lady will not be" asked to call at the station.”

“Good; That simplifies matters.HTl meet you at the railway bookstall at 10.30.”

“All right,” Maxley growled. “Providing you don’t miss your connection from Colborough.”

AGATHA HANSON’S PAST

Nobody had worried much about Miss Hanson, whose comings and goings excited little curiosity. She happened to be middle-aged and unmarried, which accounted for anything. Hike everybody else who had been aboard the Colborough-Netherton ’bus on the occasion of the tragic happenings she had been the subject of discreet police inquiries. They were aware of her loneliness, an absence of friends, and the fact that not even immediate neighbours were taken into her confidence. According to local tittle-tattle* there had been some long-past disappointment in the woman’s life which had soured her existence.

Maxley was not inclined to attach a great deal of importance to this story. “Every old-maid is credited with a broken romance,” he remarked as the main-line express bore the investigating ti’io southwards. “She must have been quite an attractive woman in her time,” observed Morrison Sharpe. “Possibly.” “And still rather distinguished looking.” “I hadn’t noticed it.”

“Oh yes. On that fact I chn assure you she is worth a second glance. Particularly did I admire her reserved dignity. She is, too, a woman of great determination —well balanced. Not the type to faint at the sight of a drop of blood . . . .”

(To be Continued)