The Fellow Passengers;

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 503, 10 January 1906, Page 2

The Fellow Passengers;

OUR BRILLIANT NEW STORY. NOW FIBST PUBLISHED.

A Mystery and Its Solution,

BY, BIVINGTON PIKE, Author of 'The Man who Disappeared,' 'London of the Past,' &c, &o.

OUR ARRANGEMENTS WITH THE AUTHOR ARE THAT WE ALONE IN AUSTRALIA HAVE THE RIGHT TO SERIAL PUBLICATION.

CHAPTER IX.—(Continued.)

Wilkin3 tried, bat soon showed that description wa3 not hi 3 strong point. 'Well—he wa3 tall—and dark looking,' he said, stumblingly. ' Beard—moustache—clothes,' the Inspector suggested. I No beard, and not much moustache,' the shopman said. ' I didn't notice his clothes beyond the fact that he wore a long, dark overcoat, which was slightly cut and dirty.' ' H'm t Did he buy a hat in place of this?'

taking the dilapidated hat with him; and soon afterwards Mr Ormrod also left the shop. To say that the latter gentleman was bewildered would be to describe his mental state very weakly. Why had Walter come to Manchester ? What caused the smashing of the hat ? And, above all, what wrong thing had he done thai the police should be on his track ?

' Yes,' a good one.' The Inspector turned the hat over in hia fingers. Neither the maker's name nor the half-obliterated handwriting on the band escaped him. Both were dues; and the latter might prove of special service. 1 Widdon make, eh P the Inspector cogitated. ' H'm! the man gave an address at Widdon. Initials «W. B.' correspond, too, with the name he furnished. This hat will prove useful'

Marsh then borrowed from Mr Robinson a powerful magnifying glass, and proceeded to inspect the writing. He satisfied himself that the first name was Walter; but the second did not look quite like Buckle—though what it had been he couldn't determine.

All this took but a few minutes to enact—less time almost than will be occupied in reading its narration. And, meanwhile, a little in the background, Mr Ormrod had posed as a spectator.

Could it be that he had gone through the accident and come out of it with a demented mind? Such things have happened. Walter's family history, indeed, made suah an effect seem not unlikely. This theory, certainly, would explain much; yetyet even it would not satisfactorily account for Inspector Marsh's inquiry. Just before the Inspector's advent, Mr Ormrod had hit upon this as a tenable explanation. Now, though, he felt a dwindling confidence in its correctness. And yet, cogitate as he might, he could not arrive at any other that seemed more likely. Weary, at length, of arguing out the matter—an operation as profitless as thrashing straw—he decided to postpone some 3mall remaining items of business, and to make his way homeward. It was important that his daughter should learn quickly of the suspicion which hung over her husband's head.

His brain was in a whirl. This hat wa3 Walter's—and the police were on his track. What had the man done ?

Mr Ormrod now stepped forward. He could hear the suspense no longer. 'What's up?' he asked, lamely. * Something wrong aboat the hat ?' The Inspector looked him over superciliously. «That's my business,' ha retorted. 'Still, I don't mind saying this much—there's something wrong, and very much wrong, about the late owner of the hat.'

•What has he been doing?' Mr Ormrod asked. He felt that he was bungling, and might do Walter an injury, but couldn't keep back the question. The Inspector turned on hi 3 heel. * The newspapers will tell you in a d»y or two,' he said shortly.

'I was examining the hat before you came in," Mr Ormrod persisted. • It's Widdon make, and I come from Widdon myself. I thought, perhaps, I might have known ther wearer.'

The old gentleman could hardly, had ne planned for a week, have said anything better calculated than this to unlock the Inspector's heart—though he stumbled into the revelation, rather than made it of set purpose. It at once occurred to Marsh that Mr Ormrod might be of use. A question or two passed as to who and what Mr Ormrod was. The latter had little difficulty in satisfying the Inspactor that he was a man of some standing. Marsh then became more communicative.

• The fact is,' said Marsh, «I'm on the look-out for a person who passes under the name of Walter Buckle. This, here, is the hat; and most likely tins ..writing inside the hat is his writing. He gave his address, last night, as 3*2, Edinburgh-terrace, Widdon ; but from inquiry made there I find that that was a wrong address. Do you happen, now, to know a man of that name i'

Mr Ormrod, with returning presence of mind, replied truthfully in the negative. The Inspector then went on to describe the man who was wanted; but Mr Ormrod, les3 truthfully, with feigned regret, declared himself unable to help.

CHAPTER X. Bob Nioholls was (as has already been remarked) but a casual reader of newspapers. When he did buy one, it was generally one of the sporting type. Sport seemed to him so much more interesting than politics. On this Saturday morning, though, his eye was caught by the Sare of the contents bills and he invested a penny in the ' Telegraph.' Usually he hadn't time to read the placards, a3 he only arrived at the station when his train was coming in. On this occasion, for a wonder—owing to the clocks being fast—he got there a minute too soon. The bills ran thus : TERRIBLE RAILWAY ACCIDENT ..-IN LANCASHIRE. «e£TL TRAIN WRECKED. FIVE PERSONS KILLED. TWENTY-FIVE INJURED. This in itself was sufficiently ' catchy,' and owing to Bob's interest in his friend, his mind, that morning, was in an impressionable mood. The first glance at the news appalled him. It was really Walter's train that had come into collision. And it was from among the travellers by that that the victims had been selected. He searched nervously through the lists of killed and injured, breathing freely once more when he found his friend's name absent. ' Thank God!' he exclaimed with fervour. And then, while his face was buried in the sheet, hi 3 accustomed train rolled in, took up fresh passengers, and departed citywards without him. The next train was due in twenty minutes, and before it came up, Bob had devoured the whole account. At the last moment he was joined by Charlie Howarth, the friend he had visited over-night. The latter began to speak in a bantering tone, but the expression on Bob's face stopped him. 'Have you read about this accident ?' Bob asked, gravely. This spectacle of Bob—the despiser of printed matter—interested in a newspaper, and voluntarily speaking about what he had read there—was a severe trial to hia friend. However, the latter managed to keep a serious face.

' Ah, well,' said the Inspector,' I must try some other quarter. Shouldn't wonder, now, if that hatter at Widdon will be able to tell me something.'

For over a minute Mr Ormrod had had a question on his lips—a question which he much wanted to ask, but which he feared the Inspector would be loth to answer. He now blurted it out without coreruony—- ' Is it a big thing this—anything serious, I mean ?'

* Oh, yes,' he replied. «Bad affair, isn't it ?' Bcb paused for a moment. Then he resumed. «You saw that man I had with me on Thursday ? He was in it.' Charlie now recollected that Bob had mentioned seeing his friend off the 1 30. He could understand, in these circumstances, his companion's unusual soberne33 of manner.

•What? Oh, what the man's wanted for. Yes, it is pretty hi". But the papers will tell vou all about it.'

1 The deuce!' he ejaculated. Adding quickly,' Was he hurt ?' 'He seems not to have been,' said Bob, perplexedly. ' Anyway, the 'Telegraph' doesn't give his name. I can't make it out, though, at a?l.' 'Can't make what out? Did you expect; him to be hurt?'

The Inspector departed in his cab,

'lt's jii3t thi3 way,' explained Bob.: 'When ha started he was in that second compartment of the second carriage where the two dead passengers were found. And, not only

that, but he was sitting facing that Amerioan I told you about. Well, here's the American's name among the killed—George W. Bent, of New York—l'll be bound that's the same man. Now, the paper 3ays that everybody in that compartment suffered more or less severely,' and it gives the name of a woman and child as the only persons who escaped with their lives. . . .'

Bob paused, leaving his remarks incomplete. 'Well?' ejaculated Charlie, questioningly. ' Well, where was Walter? That's what I want to know.'

Charlie pondered a bit. He must have changed compartments,' he concluded, sagely; * unless the papers are wrong.' Bob glanced up, with a sudden look of relief. 'By jove! that's it. I didn't think of that,' he said. ' Charlie, you're a brick!' Under the stimulus of.this expression of confidence Charlie exerted his brains quite strenuously. 'Of course, that's it,' he said. ' Weren't you telling me something, by-the-bye, about some unpleasantness with another passenger—ah, yes, with that American? There's a reason for you, ready made.' Bob jumped at a bound from anxiety to confidence. Charlie's theory was so cogent—even his reason, though an afterthought, was convincing.

playing hide and seek, and finds it amusing, why let him.' It then occurred to Bob that he had been a little premature in sending off this last message. Walter (granting his return to London) might have put up somewhere else than at Killick's; he might, in that case, have sent his friend—to the latter's private address —some intimation of this, and an explanation of his change of plan. The letter might even now be awaiting him at his lodgings in Elizabethstreet. A last little glimmer of hope arose, and kept Bob from feeling utterly defeated. But this only made the darkness more intense when it proved to be unfounded. No letter had come — no gentleman had called; his land lady was positive on both point - Whatever Walter's 'little game' might be, he plainly didn't intend to take Bob into the secret.

'By jovel' he exclaimed; 'but wasn't it lucky.' That Yank did him a good turn afte* all. If it hadn't been for his cheek, Walter would, no doubt, have stayed on in that compartment, and might have been killed, or maimed for life.'

Before they parted, at the lower end of Moorgate-street, Charlie suggested to his friend that it would be a graceful act to send Broadhurst a telegram of congratulation. Bob concurred, and accordingly sent that message (already adverted to), which so puzzled Mrs Broadhurst; it being the first intimation she had that her husband actually started by the unfortunate train.

This done, Bob thought the affair at an end. It left his brain, though, in an excited state. The fact of knowing someone who was in the train gave him a sort of personal connection with the mishap, and of this he availed himself with quite boyish naivete. He talked; indeed, so incessantly to his fellow clerks that at length the manager had to interfere, and to point out brutally that the occurrence did not absolve Bob from the duty of proceeding with his ordinary work. Almost immediately after this unfeeling check came Nellie's telegram, which puzzled Bob even more than his own message had puzzled the folks at Widdon. < Quarrel,' •Walter still in London,' 'See him and make it up'—what in the name of reason was the meaning of all this ? Had he not with his own eyes seen Walter start on the previous afternoon? One thing only at first was clear—that Walter had not reached home. That was strange! And when Bob began to reflect and to calculate, he found it well nigh 'ncomprehensible. For, after making the most generous allowance for delay caused by the accident, there was still time left, abundance of it, in which Walter might have finished the journey. After various re-perusals of the message, a second fact, neglected at first, began to stand out in relief, namely, that Nellie believed that her brother was still in London. * Still,' by-the-bye, seemed to imply that he had never left the place. Now Bob knew better than that; but in the midst of so much that was exciting, he was not inclined to harp too strongly on a mere word. However, if Walter were in London, which was a ridiculous supposition, he would be at Killick's—or tidings of him would be obtainable there. Now Killick's Hotel was in a reach able spot—Chester-street, Strand—within a penny 'bus ride of the office. Bob at once made up his mind to pay the hotel a visit as soon as he was free. He then proceeded to draw up a reply to his sweetheart's message. Soon after one o'clock he left the office, but a football match in which he was down to play left him engaged till five. On his way to the ground he despatched his second message to Nellie; in which (as will be remembered) he stated positively that Walter left Eustcn by the ill-fated train—and also announced that he would make inquiry for him at the hotel. The latter engagement he carried out between five and six o'clock. The girl who kept the hotel books did not at first, though, recall the name. 'Mr Broadhurst,' she repeated, turning over the pages of her biggest volume. 'Oh, yes! I remember now. No. 34. No, he is not here at present. He left yesterday morning, immediately after breakfast.'

' But hasn't he come back ?' Bob queried. The girl shook her head with great self-possession. 'No. We haven't seen him since. He said nothing about returning.' With his brain in a greater whirl than ever, Bob made his way back into the Strand. Here, from the Charing Cross office, he sent a further telegram to Whiddon —the third that day. The message ran as fellows: —

' Walter not at Killiek'e. Where is he ? Has he reached home yet ?' Ho began to feel a little angry with the absent man. Was this some game of Walter's ? If so, it was one of which Bob could not see the fun.

'Hanged if I'll worry myselt any more about him V he muttered, as he jumped on a 'bus. • If Walter likes

The latter had some tea, though he felt too disgusted with the world at large to eat much. He then lay down for half an hour, thinking with unusual profundity. The upshot of these cogitations was a decision to go across to N0..12, and ask for Charlie Howarth's opinion on the subject. As he approached the house, he saw that the ground floor was lit up. Mrs Kennet, apparently, had got a fresh tenant. At another time, perhaps, he might have made this the subject of a little friendly chaff. Just now, though, he felt too heavily burdened with his own trouble to do more than merely notice the fact. Little Maudie Kennet —a chubby girl of nine—opened the door. She grinned on seeing Bob, and whispering ' See here I' held out her hand. In the palm lay a shilling, presumably a gift. She pointed in high glee at the partly-opened door of the sit-ting-room. Through the chink came light, and the sound of crockery. Not only were the rooms let, but lodger was in possession. Bob the fact, smiled at the girl's delight, and began to ascend the stairs. Maudie jumped nimbly after him, and playfully grabbed his coat. ' He's giv it me,' she whispered—- ' the new lodger.' ' At this moment, Mrs Kennet, bear ing a tray, came out of the room where she had been laying the table She carried herself stiffer and straighte j than usual, from which Bob inferred that the new-comer was a person of some consequence. He bade her a genial ' good evening,' to which she replied briefly, and in her stateliest tones. To his surprise, she made no attempt to follow up this opening, but passed on towards the lower regions with a novel dignity of manner. Bob could not help smiling at the change which twenty-four hours had brought forth. • Who is he asked of Maudie.

' I don't know his name yet,' said the child. ' But I like him, and so does ma. He's got lots and lots of money.' At tbis moment, in dulcet tones, the child's name was called from below. ' Maudie, dear, —I want you.' Bob had never before credited his friend's landlady with the possession of such a voice. Maudie, too, instantly obeyed—a thing which did not always follow. Really, the whole house seemed transformed.

He opened his friend's door, half expecting to find Charlie, also, under the influence of the prevailing infection. To his great relief, though, Charlie was the same as usual—but a little out of temper. Maudie had been promoted to attend on him, vice her mother, more profitably engaged elsewhere; and the child, with artle33 candour, had made it evident that the new lodger was the reigning favourite. Charlie felt hurt at this sudden deposition. 4 1 don't, know who the fellow is,' he said shortly, in answer to Bob's question, 'and, what's more, I don't care. He's just come to London, and he's got heaps of cash—that's all I've heard. He may be a smasher or a forger for anything I know.' When Charlie had calmed down a bit—which happened after he had poured out the story of his wfongs — Bob began to speak of his own disquietude. More particularly, he discussed —at some length—the mystery which surrounded his Widdon friend's movements.

'Oh hang you and your friend,' said Charlie at length, after an unsuccessful effort at patience. 'He's got home by this. Don't you muddle your head about him. Here—look at this paper ,for a minute, while I go into the next room.'

Bob took up the journal which Charlie tossed towards him, and turning to the third page began to read the latest news from Gulby. He found there certain revelations — already known to the reader, but quite new to him —which for the moment took away his breath. He ran on to the landing, and summoned his friend. 'Charlie, come here. I want you,' he exclaimed. •Well—what's up now,' growled Charlie, emerging from his bedroom. 'Read this,' said Bob. 'Here—this third paragraph.' The following is what met Charlie's eye:—

* A remarkable piece of news is telegraphed from Gulby. It seems that, the passenger described as George W. Bant,'of New York, one of the two killed in the accident, is a swindler, who is ' wanted' by the police. Particulars of his crime were given in our yesterday's issue, but we were not then aware that he was in our midst. . . . From various facts that have come to light it is believed that he was accompanied in the train by at least one associate —if not two. (To be continued..)