THE FOURTH MAN

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 109, 11 May 1933, Page 23

THE FOURTH MAN

Mmtllwr »f "Tht Mfrtfleltf W*«t#ry," "Th# Third D«jre*," Io H «u.

CHAPTER XXL

I felt stunned. It was an almost unbelievable turn of affairs. As for Evelyn, she was outraged, indignant to the point of fury at the suggestion made against Marple, in whom she thoroughly believed. Joan, too, when we got back to the Bcltons and told her what had happened. I was not'positive enough, nor angry enough for them. They sniffed when I sajd it was all a ghastly tangle and would be cleared up in time. They remarkedSwith irony that I had one formula for everything. What promised to be a tiff was cut short by a telephone call from Pinson. "Thought you'd probably be there," he said. "I've just seen the evening papejrs with the inquest; report. This is very serious, Quilter: It needs immediate action. You tell the girls I want to coniult you, and- that you may be too busy to see them to-morrow. Wait, though—ask Miss Evelyn to speak to me herself." I called Evelyn to the telephone. She returned with a new expression on her face. "You'd better get along, Paul," said she. "Mr. Pinson says he'll be at your rooms in a quarter of an hour. He wants you urgently." Joan csme down in the lift with me at my request. I had been obliged to neglect Joan during these days, and she did not like it. But I told her that Pinson and I were on the track of news that might mean everything to Evelyn and Bernard, and that if she did not see me again for a day or two she must believe the best. "Between ourselves, Joan," said I. It was wonderful how even that little rag pf a secret shared with her lightened the landscape for Joan, and our parting in the hall was entirely satisfactory, at any rate to me. Pineoa was already at King's Road, landlady had shown him into my living room, where he had heaped a huge coat on tha settee, and a dressingcase atood on the floor. "■Ah,, here you are at last, Quilter. WJjat pernicious fools the police have peen! But get on packing, man. All m want for a couple of days." "This is so sudden," said I, still suf«ring a little from the elation of my two minutes alone with Joan. "What shall I pack, and where are we going?" Rflsou stared at me with surprise. "You're rather on top ojj yourself this Mening, Quilter. Not been drinking, you!" Irtassured him. «ell, get on with the packing. I've Drought; my gear. Chuck things you want in two days into a bag. And Wing some food. Now's our chance to do a good turn to Marple and Olver, if Im not mistaken. That is, provided we're not already too late." I was fishing a bag out of a cupboard. "I can't quite see what you propose," said L "Well; now we know that 'the police we after Marple, don't we ? And doesn't that make all the difference?" ( [They've been after him for a week." Yes," said Pinson with a note of impatience }n his voice. "They have. But privately. Now it's all out in the newspapers. Every newspaper in the country. Lomax footling round for Marple from Acton is one thing. Every police station in the country and every newsP'per reader on the look-out is anther. Huee! Didn't you say that Marple seemed to be well known in Bodmin? When they get this news in Bodmin, my dear Quilter, they'll begin to wake up and take notice. They'll Remember the name Marple. It's not the commonest name. Then, as he can't possibly have had the news up in the fastnesses, adieu Marple, unless we can get there first."

CHAPTER XXII,

I had to admit that this was a new Point of view. But it made me curious about Pinson himself. He had balked severely at the idea of giving me a'promise to let Marple alone. Now he was keen as a colt about giving Marple the "Officc." "So, Quilter," said he, "the immediate question is, how long it will take to get down to-this benighted place, and what sort of a, car shall we "want? I've looked

R. A. J. WALLING.

up trains. All no good. Besides, trains would mean local inquiries, and therefore curiosity about us." I said he need not trouble about the car; I could manage that all right. "If you don't mind some discomfort and a few risks," said I, "I can have you there in six hours, although it is about 240 miles —and that will beat any train." "Discomfort? Risks? My dear Quilter," said Pinson, "there are no such things on a night like this." "Sri that case," said l, "barring smashes, I guarantee six hours. But we shall have to avoid Plymouth. You can't get across the estuary at night. It's probably not mueh further going by Launceston, though not such a good road." "Anyhow and anywhere you like, Quilter. Only at once," said Pinson. I telephoned to the garage, told them to look over the Beltane, fill her up, and have her round to me in half an hour. Also they were to bring two woollen helmets, two crash helmets, and two leather coats. Pinson sighed relief when he had heard these orders. He even consented to sit down. Then I put to him as delicately as I could the reasons for his change of front about Marple. "The very reasons," said he, "that seem to have determined the police to go for Marple. The police have been very dud about this. We must remember that you haven't played fair with them, nor have I since I came into it. They're handicapped. Still, half an ounce of common sense would have shown them that there can't be anything in the yarn about Btolen money and menaces. Why! Marple probably had three times as much money as Selwyn, and a thousand pounds would be nothing to him one way or the other. The deuce of it is that this muddle-headed theory of the money has diverted them from Olver to Marple. They've simply stumbled into what is the only way, in fact, of getting at Olver! So, I'm sorry, but we've got to drop the clue of the dago in Goggles and go and put Marple wise." Even now I had not understood Pinson's change of front. "Well," he explained, "I've been studying the reports of the first inquest, and comparing them with the facts we know. The evidence is of no real value for motive, and therefore useless for the ultimate explanation of the problem. But it's important for the circumstances of tha crime itself. The police arranged the evidence so loosely that until I extracted the vital features from each witness' story the truth did not dawn on me." "What truth?" I asked. "Why, tha truth that neither Marple nor Bernard could possibly have killed Selwyn, whatever anybody said about I confessed that I was still as dense as the police. "Oh," said Pinson, "they're not dense enough to miss this if they knew it. But, as I say, we've not played fair with them. It's your evidence, Quilter, that could save Olver, arid I was fool enough not to see it till this afternoon when I began to look through my analysis." , , •"Perhaps you'll tell me what the analysis is." _ "Certainly. You said that Olver came into the hall about five minutes after ten that night, didn't you?" "Yes. No doubt about it. I was watching the grandfather clock in the hall all the time, thinking about the "And he said to you that Selwyn had into the garden. Didn't say what "No —shut me up on the subject." "Ah! Well, Selwyn's body was found on the tennis court. That's close to_ the gate between the two gardens, isn t it?" , "Yes, not ten yards away. . "And when Olver left you to go into the garden, it was about twenty pas* that was it. J UB t as the girls Ca "Did°you notice in the that Selwjrn, unlike most elderly men, wore a wrist watch?" "I didn't hear the evidence, and I didn't notice it in the reports. Idm not read them closely, I admit. But I knew Selwyn's habit. We us"d to buck him about it." "Not surprising that you didn t notice it. The police didn't make uiuch "

The point seemed of no importance to them, because they were bo sure of their theory. But when Selwyn fell his wrist watch smashed, and it etopped at a quarter past ten. If his watch was right, then he was shot while you and Olver were talking in the hall." "And," I stuttered, "Bernard —must have gone into the garden and found him!"

"Not sure. I don't know. We haven't reached there yet. But see how important a question of minutes is. There's Marple also. I've been tracing Marple'e movements. He left Waller House at a quarter to ten. He went to Acton to see a man named Weeks, and got there at ten o'clock. That's certain. Weeks fixed it for the police. But he was not quite sure what time Marple left. However, as Marple had a drink and talked about a car Weeks wanted to buy, it's a safe thing that he could not have been back in the garden of Waller House at ten-fifteen. He probably got home or near home just as Olver was sprinting away. He smelt a rat. He induced Olver to return to Milton House. What rat I don't know. That's to be found out. But you 6ee he could not have flred a shot at Selwyn on his tennis lawn at a quarter past ten." "Clearly not. I'm glad you've reached the same opinion as I have held all the time," said I.

"All right, I have. But I got at it by a different route—by sight instead of faith. Still, that's of no consequence, Quilter. What, is important is to keep Marple out of the way of Lomax and his boys, or at any rate to get speech ■with him first. I feel shaky about this. I don't like it a bit. I wish we had Marple here now instead of having to wait six hours to see him . . . That the car?"

CHAPTER XXIII. There was a hollow burbling down in the street which rose above all the other sounds of traffic. I recognised the note of the Beltane. I picked up my bag, collared a cake and a flask from the sideboard—neither of us had dined —and went down, followed by Pinson. The Beltane was a racing car or some note which we had bought and modified for the road, screening in her narrow sides and detuning the engine. Even now you would be doing eighty if you let her right out. The man who had brought her round handed us the helmets and leather coats, and iu the doorway of the house we got ourselves up like mummies while he stowed the things in'the locker. I told Piilson it would be useless to talk, since we should never hear what we said ourselves when we got moving. Ha nodded. He would do a bit of thinking, he said. I got in and took the wheel. He followed and sat in the staggered seat under my port quarter. The man touched his hat, and we burbled off through West London. We burbled a little louder when we had flown through Hounslow, and louder and louder, till we were roaring down the Thames valley. We left at eight or thereabouts, and before it was dark at ten we were at Salisbury. By slowing through villages and towns, and speeding at sixty through clear country, we made fast time for the first 150 miles, knowing what was to come in the way of narrow roads and breakneck corners later on. Pinson sat silent as the Sphinx. I, with my eyes glued on the end of the headlight's beam, was strung up to a point of extreme exhilaration by the speed. We slowed down through Exeter at a quarter to twelve. That had been well over forty miles an hour. The city was silent, most of it in bed, and I throttled down to an inoffensive burble. * Thence onward the road was less familiar to me; we had to go round the northern side of Dartmoor to avoid Plymouth and the crossing of the Tamar. An average of thirty was now the top limit, but wc reached Launceston shortly after half past one, and began the last lap of this wild ride through the sternest country of all.

(To be continued daily.)