MURDER IN THE SPOTLIGHT

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 136, 11 June 1938, Page 8 (Supplement)

MURDER IN THE SPOTLIGHT

By Captain Eugene de Beck

True Stories Of The Marseilles Secret Police

No. 111.

SYNOPSIS.

Saarehlag for opium smuggler* along Uμ imllltt wtttrfrcnt, Louie Lemoine, brilliant French detective, and Captain do Beck eee a woman Murdered on an anchored freighter. Laarntng that «he la the sweetheart of tfce freighter's captain and that ehe recalled a not* from the waterfront cafo shortly before her death, they enter the cafo, dioguiaod aa thugs, and •eon discover the captain bargaining over the price of opium with a stranger named Ravaehol. Then one of Lemoine's operatives accidentally overturns a screen ho is hiding behind, and a desperate light ensues. ITS odd how quickly your mind can work in an emergency. When I saw the captain jerk Lum Li into the air that way my memory **w another image. The spot-lighted image of a barrelcheated man swinging aloft the frail body of a woman and holding it above his head. » was the name gesture! The captain was handling Lorn Li just as he had thrown the body of Marie. But then it was into the sea. Now it was—at us! The poor little fellow squealed with fright as his frail body hurtled through the air—and caught ine squarely across tie chest. Over I went like a ninepin. And the captain followed through, his hand streaking aloft with a knife. He was coming like an express train while I reached for my gun. And Ravachol was on his feet now, too. His hand was ieaide his coat. But there was still Lttnoine. Lemoine, nimble as a dancer, sidestepped the cannonball flight of poor little Lnm Li. His gun was out—and he palled the trigger. Louie fired. Squarely in the shoulder of the knife arm that bullet struck —and whirled the big man half around. "I got plenty more, you sewer ratal" saarled Louis. StapefcUafc Mmier Charge I struggled to my feet, telling Lum Li to slip out and get the police. I steed behind Lemoine and guarded our rear.. Uniformed men poured in. We were ail led out of there, handenffed—Lemoine and I with the rest. That, of course, was part of the show. They took us to headquartere. On the Captain they found 40,000 francs. He wae stupefied when they arrested' him on a charge of murdering Marie. He swore that he was innocent, raved for permission to see her. In the booth where he and Ravaehol had been sitting police had found a bulky canvas bag— filled with those little tin cases. And each case wae full of smuggled opium. "The captain carried it under hie coat," Lemoine explained, after we had been liberated and had removed our disguises. "No wonder the skipper looked so bulky when he came in. Little Lum 14 heard them come to terms —juet jhjjfocej the screen spilled." Lemoine SSie'**!. He seemed to be .feeling on jßßfijjjiS^Sj'".with himself. "The little t»*trol boys have their Itv^P^^lS^^SPilsi^'?*?!' ,^ you , —you have

a good lead in your opium caee. A fair night's work, Louis." "Thank you," 6aid Lemoine. But he was laughing at me. "And now come with me," he said. "I want to ehow you something. But first I must go into the fingerprint bureau." Lemoine, returning, led me to a small room, opening from the prefect's office. As I entered Louis paused and wliiepered something to a euave police official. "Yon understand T" he said. "But yes, monsieur." In the room, big Ravaehol wae sitting in a chair. A strong light was focused upon his face. In the surrounding gloom I could make out the figures of detectives. "Fingerprint him!" saM Lemoine. With a speed which convinced me this j was all part of some denouement arranged by Louis, an ink pad and the proper forme were produced. Bavachol looked very uneaey, but knew better than to resist. Lemoine, keeping his face out of the light, took the forms bearing the wet prints. "Compare these with the prints we found to-night," he eaid. I wondered why he spoke in such a loud, commanding voice—eo unlike the soft, courteous tone he customarily used to his associates. Ravachol's jaw loosened. He swallowed, with some difficulty. And then followed a long pause. No one epoke. No one moved. I watched the man in the chair. "Wh-what's this ell mean?" he mumbled. "I—l was just in a place where a fellcrw did some shooting. I didn't Jo anything. I—." They let him talk, but no one answered. Finally a quiet voice behind me said: "Affirmative, M. le Prefect." '

"Good," said Louis Lemoine. "Ravaehol, you face the guillotine for the murder of Marie Duplese." "I didn't do it!" Ravaehol. "Finger-prints, Ravaehol," said Lemoine quietly. "You left them everywhere—even on the knife you killed her with. You took no precautions againet leaving prints, because when you went to the ship to-night you had no intention of killing her." "No—no," gasped Ravaehol, Sweat streamed from his face. "She was necessary to your plan," Lemoine pursued. The man made no answer. "She nicked you with that little knife of hers," Lemoine continued, and hie hand reached out, slapped Ravaehol on the left forearm. "Right here." The man winced. "You will go to the guillotine," pursued Lemoine. "Unless—" "I will talk, only—they will kill me, monsieur." "The guillotine is sur*r than they," said Lemoin" dryly. And Ravaehol talked. He didn't know enough to enable Lemoine to split the ring open, at that time. He didn't know the men high up. But he did know enough to give Louis valuable leads. Aβ to the murder, he, Ravaehol, half Greek and half French, had often flirted with Marie when she met him to deliver the opium. On this trip Ravechol knew that the consignment was an unusually large one. He had conceived the idea of double-cro6sing both the captain, by sxealing his opium and his girl, aud the heads of the ring, by running off with the money they entrusted to him for the purchases <*i the narr »tic

He had written the usual note, making the appointment, had gone to his principals and obtained their money. Then he watched the captain leave the ehip and had appropriated the boat. Hα had made his proposition to Marie, but she had laughed at him, declaring that she both feared and loved tho captain. Besides, ehe added, the captain himself had taken the opium ashore —contrary to all precedent—because he had heart! that Ravachol was holding out nione*on him. He himself, wanted to confront Ravachol. Enraged by her refusal of himself and not believing her story about the opium, Ravachol had pleaded with her, argued with her, struggled with her—and then killed her. Then he swam ashore, got hia wound dressed by a shady physician, changed his clothes and went to the rendezvous, because not to have done so would have invited suspicion. "Lucky about those fingerprints," I said to Lemoine as we left the hot little room after Ravechol had been led away, hie confession signed and witnessed. I assumed naturally that the fingerprint report had juet been received from the vessel. Final Summery Of "Routine Work" "Lucky, oh, of course!" said Louis with a wicked grin. Outside we met Guichard coming from the fingerprint bureau. "We've rounded up the crew," he said, "and fingerprinted them all. Aside from their prints and the captain's and the girl's, Louis, there isn't a single print in that cabin. None on the knife, of course. As you yourself said, the handle wouldn't take fingerprints. Too rough." I β-tared open-mouthed at Lemoine while he explained to Guichard that he had tricked the murderer to confessing. "Nothing to that," said Lemoine. "He knew he had done the murder, and so did I. It was just our bad luck he didn't leave prints, but he did not know that. My sureness bluffed him." Lemoine shrugged. "A mere routine police trick, that, my Eugene." I was utterly dumbfounded. "But how did you knowT" I cried. "That took more than* routine police work." "It was easy," said Lemoine. "First. I doubted greatly that the captain had done it." "Why?" "The letter. It convinced you he was guilty. It indicated to me that he was probably innocent. Attend, Eugene. Aesume that you have a wife or sweetheart. One day you find a love note, to her, from another man. You confront her with it. Then what do you do? Put it down and forget about it: No! You hug it to yourself. Your rage feeds upon it. You want it also to confront the man in the case, the writer. "So I reasoned, Eugene, that if the captain had killed the woman it was not over that note. And besides, what woman would be such a fool as to send a half-wit watchman to bring love letters aboard her lover's boat when she could as easily have sent it out to a rendezvous and got the letter herself?" I shook my head. The presence of the dinghy had. to my mind, helped convict Dondeau. "But, Eugene, do you remember the knot I cut from the rope which tied the dinghy to the companion-way? That

was a landlubber's knot —instead of the square knot the captain would have used. So I decided that someone who knew when the captain would be away had stolen his boat where he had left it tied to the wharf, and had rowed out to the ship. And that man was the murderer. And that man probably would be the person who caused the watchman to be drugged. ; "In short, Eugene, I believed that the murderer was a powfeful man, with a fresh cut on his body, a. man not a sailor, but one thoroughly familiar with the routine aboard the Patrice; a man with enough influence at the Anchor wine shop to cause the watchman to be given drugged v .ne there." ''Jlavinjr come so far, Eixnrae, it was child"* play when, in the rear of the Anchor wine shop, we discover a man who has been meetinp Marie regularly, who i* large and powerful, who is not a sailor, who carries his left arm stiffly as if it had been cut, who greets Captain Dondeau. Here wa.4 a man who could imve the watchman drugged. Here was the man who had written the note, who knew the captain's habits, who would be accompanied by a surprised but friendly Mario when h» went to the ship. "His confession told ue juet what happened when he did go there." And «o Louis Lemoine, while engaged on another case altogether, solved the Spotlight Murder in a few hours. And he got a murder conviction by deduction and bluff, for Ravachol went to prison for life.

The thrilling adventures of Capt. de Beck and Lonis Lemoine in "Bombs in the Princess' Baggage," is the next true story.