The Framing of Inspector Denvers

Ellesmere Guardian, Volume LX, Issue 17, 3 March 1939, Page 3

The Framing of Inspector Denvers

By AIDAN DE BRUNE Author of "The Grays Manor Mystery," "The Flirting Fool," "Saul and the Spinster," etc.

THE GUARDIAN'S SERIAL

CHAPTER XIV.

(Copyright)

"What's the matter, Jimmie?"

Jimmie Frost looked up from beside the insensible man. Beside him stood Sir Edmund Morgan, his keen, grey ; eyes moving from the ex-detective to the couple on the floor. "Who are they? Are they dead?" Jimmie Frost shook his head. He scrambled to his feet, and stood aside so that the police chief could See the two unconscious forms. He remained staring down at Sir Edmund, a frown on his face, his brain whirling with conflicting doubts i and conjectures. "Luther Banke!" The commissioner's tones betrayed amazement. He turned sharply to the two men immediately behind him. "Paynter!! Jimmie! You must help me! Turn all the people out of this flat. I can't have anyone in here until my men arrive." He turned again to the two bodies on the floor. Jimmie Frost helped Paynter to clear the flat of the curious onlookers, then returned to the sitting-room, leaving the crook at the outer door, with renewed injunctions against admitting anyone, except the police. In one corner of the room Jimmie Frost saw a man crouching against the wall. A couple of strides and he caught him by the shoulder, swinging him round to face the light! The man was Alec Kempton. Jimmie Frost nodded understanding^. Sir Edmund had, no doubt, brought the solicitor into the flat. With an exclamation of disgust he let the man slide back into his crouch against the wall. A moment's consideration, and he went again to the hall and instructed Joyce Paynter that no one was to leave the flat until further instructions were given. He gave the order as a message from the police chief. "There's something very strange here, Mark!" Sir Edmund looked up at his former lieutenant. "Luther Banke here! Why, it's only a few hours ago ..." He stopped speaking abruptly, turning again to the stricken man on the floor. A few minutes and he looked up again. "Is there a telephone in this flat, Ma ... Jimmie?" As he spoke his eyes searched the room. "Doesn't look as if there is one. Go somewhere and ring up the nearest policestation. Tell the inspector on duty to come here, and to bring a doctor with him." A man in the little group that still lingered on the landing outside the flat, acknowledged possession of a telephone. Jimmie Frost conveyed the commissioner's message to the desk-sergeant at the police station, then returned to Martha Tayne's flat. To his secret relief the girl had regained consciousness and was sitting on the lounge beside the police chief breathing stentoriousiy. Jimmie Frost frowned. ■ What had happened in that flat during the past hour? It was evident Luther Banke and the girl haS been together in that room, probably in some kind of business conference. But against that, the jeweller was supposed to be confined to his bed, suffering from some form of stroke. Then, what was the meaning of Alec Kempton's presence in the flat? The ex-detec-tive's eyes instinctively went to the corner where he had left the solicitor. Some of the man's customary assurance had returned. He had drawn a chair to him and was seated. Jimmie Frost noted that the chair was so placed that the table hid Luther Banke's body. Martha Tayne, Luther Banke, Alec Kempton! For some moments Jimmie Frost puzzled the secret connexion between the three persons. If he could guess that he might be able to reconstruct what had happened in the flat before the girl screamed. The flat was occupied by Martha Tayne. Jimmie Frost knew, person-

ally, that she had been at home most of the evening. When he had arrived home, after his escape from the police-ceil, he had seen her in her kitchenette. He had no reason to believe she had left her flat after that. Both Alec Kempton and Luthei Banke had come to the flat. Had they arrived together? That only one of three persons who had been in the flat could, or would, tell honestly. He could ask Alec Kempton the question, but he could not rely on the man telling the truth. He turned abruptly to face the commissioner and Martha Tayne. "Peeling better, Miss Tayne?" There was sympathy in Jimmie Frost's voice. "Think you're able to talk now?" "Let her alone, Jimmie." The commissioner's voice was hard. "She hasn't had time to think yet." The ex-detective glanced quickly at the police chief. What did he mean? Why should not the girl be questioned immediately. Surely if he asked the questions that were trembling on" his lips at the moment —questioned her at a time when she was not sufficiently composed to be evasive—he might quickly, learn the truth. For a moment a surge of resentment against his old chief swelled in his breast. Why had he checked his questions? Again the picture he had seen the previous evening, of the commissioner bending over the jeweller's sick bed rose to his mind's eye. But the man he had believed to be the commissioner in Luther Ba'nke's house had proved to be "Cain." Jimmie Frost turned, almost angrily, on the solicitor. "Wasn't you screaming, was it, Mr Kempton?" There was rancour in his voice. If the girl was not to be questioned, surely he might deal with this man, whose every action showed him to be a coward. "I didn't shout." Alec Kempton tried to assume a bold front. "I . . . I went for help." j "To the head of the stairs, and screamed like a girl!" Jimmie Frost laughed harshly. "That all you did?' "What . . . what do you mean?" "You know.'" The ex-detective took the man by the shoulders and swung him round so that the light from the overhead light shone full on his face. "Only went for help, eh?" The solicitor nodded, fearfully. "Who heard you yell?" "I ... I didn't shout." "No?" The ex-detective laughed gratingly. "Get this. Sir Edmund, a friend, and myself were in my flat — two floors up. We heard someone scream—again and again. We ran out on to the stairs and came down here, and —don't you forget this—we didn't know where the screams came from. We had to discover that and ." he paused, significantly. ". . . and we 'never heard another 'peep' from you. You hadn't, apparently, got further than the front-door in—your—search—for—help!" "I ... I don't understand you." Alec Kemptoh's voice quaveTed." "I think you do." The ex-detec-tive roughly tilted up the man's chin, so that the light reached every feature. "You went for help, eh? And you were here —right here, where the screams came from! Get that! And you only got as far as the head of the stairs! Can't you think of a better tale?" "I ..." the solicitor stuttered. Suddenly he gathered his remaining courage, and faced the detective. "Say, who are you?" "What the . .." Jimmie Frost turned savagely on the man. "I'm asking the questions! You didn't scream or shout? Then, what did you do to make this girl scream?" "He didn't!" Martha Tayne spoke suddenly. It was . . . was . .." "Well?" The ex-detective turned swiftly to the girl. Sir Edmund made a movement, as if to interpose, but a quick glance from Jimmie Frost checked him, The commissioner

leaned back on the lounge, a little smile on his lips. Once more Mark Denvers was incarnate —and with the brilliancy and force that had gained him quick promotion in the department. "Go on, Miss Tayne." There was now a subtle difference in the questioner's tones, yet to ears not attuned to the finer shades of inflection the former hardness remained. "You say that Kempton did not make you scream?" "He did not." There was no softness in the girl's eyes as she looked at the solicitor. "Mr Kempton came to see me on ... on business." "Yes?" "We were in this room, talking . . ." "What time did Mr Kempton arrive here?" interrupted Jimmie Frost. "About three-quarters of an hour ago." The girl looked down at her wrist-watch as she spoke. "And he was here right up to the time when . „ . when you screamed?" "Yes." The word was spoken hesitatingly. | "What business?" "Mr Luther Banke's business." The girl evaded. "Humph!" The ex-detective glanced suspiciously at the girl. She was recovering her composure far too quickly for his liking. "Does Mr Kempton come here often to discuss Mr Luther Banke's business with you?" "That's not quite fair, Jimmie." The police chief interjected in strangely gentle tones. "All's fair, chief; when there's something suspiciously like murder about." The ex-detective spoke quickly. "Murder!" The girl clasped her hands to her mouth, horrified. "We're not getting anywhere!" The ex-detective was impatient. "You were saying, Miss Tayne, that Mr Kempton came here to discuss business—your employer's business—at this time of night . . .." "I have been with counsel in court all day," Alec Kempton interposed, hastily. "Well?" "Miss Tayne has told you. I came to discuss an important business matter with her." "Miss Tayne has not told me the nature of the business matter." Jimmie Frost turned to the solicitor suddenly. He faced the girl again. "Let me get this straight. Mr Kempton came to this flat about an hour ago because he could not find time during office hours to go to Mr Luther Banke's shop. You say he came here to discuss business—but neither you nor He appear willing to diclose the nature of that business . . ." "I cannot discuss Mr Luther Ba'nke's business with strangers." The solicitor spoke loftily. "Not even when Mr Luther Banke lies like that?" Jimmie Frost suddenly caught the solicitor by the arm and forced him to face the unconscious jeweller! "That is rather a strange attitude for a sworn officer of the State's courts to adopt, Mr Alec Kempton, when—your—(client— appears—to—be—dying!" Martha Tayne screamed. The exdetective turned sharply to her. "You are going too far, Jimmie!" Sir Edmund spoke angrily. "You are frightening Miss Tayne!" "What is the matter here?" A tall, well-formed man stood in the. doorway, glancing keenly about the room. A moment, and he saw Sir Edmund, and saluted him. "Sorry, sir! Didn't see you for the moment, though they told me you were here." At the sound of John Nott's voice Jimmie Frost turned sharply. For the moment he feared the inspector catching sight of his face. Nott had been in court that oay when he faced a charge of "drunk and disorderly" —when he had been publicly denounced as James Frost, international crook and convicted murderer. Then he grinned. It was improbable the inspector would recognise in the welldressed man on evident terms of intimacy with the police commissioner the dirty, unshaven tramp of the police court. He faced the newcomer boldly. The eyes of the old comrades met and held. A puzzled expression showed on John Nott's face; for a moment it lingered, then passed. Jimmie Frost repressed a sigh of relief. How far had the inspector gone towards recognising him? He must be more wary in the future. A doctor had entered the room with the inspector, passing immediately to where Luther Banke lay. Presently Sir Edmund's eyes met Jimmie Frost's, then he looked sig-

nificantly at the door. Immediately the ex-detective was alert. He had received his dismissal —the police chief did not wish to be questioned by Inspector Nott. He moved quietly towards the door. A sudden thought came to him. How had Nott come upon him without warning? He. had stationed Joyce Paynter at the outer door of the flat, with strict injunctions not to let anyone in or out without Sir I Edmund's express permission. How then had Nott passed the man? Where was Joyce Paynter, the man he believed to be "Cain," the mystery crook? Very quietly he passed from the room to the hall. At the opened flat-door stood a uniformed constable —alone! For a moment Jimmie Frost hesitated, then approached the constable. The man turned at the sounds of his step. "Was there a man on guard at this door when you and the inspector arrived, constable?" he asked, casually. The constable grinned, and nodded. "Cool customer, sir," he replied.

"Didn't want to let the inspector in —said lie had orders not to admit anyone who wasn't in uniform. Then, when he saw me he remarked that as the police had at last arrived, he supposed he wasn't wanted any mor6 and might just as well go back to his flat." "Go back to his flat!" echoed Jimmie Frost, amazedly. "Where's that?" "Up the stairs, sir. He said 'goodnight' to me and walked up the stairs." The constable hesitated. "I suppose he lives up there." Jimmie Frost was no longer paying attention to the constable. He ran up the stairs to his flat? What had been Joyce Paynter s idea in going" up to his flat. There was no escape from the building that way. (To be continued)

At Hildesheim, near Hanover, 11 persons found guilty of "making preparations for high treason," were recently sentenced to term 3of penal servitude ranging from two to eight ; years.