STAR SERIAL

Greymouth Evening Star, 10 December 1928, Page 12

STAR SERIAL

“THE SHADOW CROOK”

By

Aidan De Brune

(Copyright)

CHAPTER 11

Inspector Mason pushed through the swing doors into the main hall, closely followed by Collins, and looked round him. Lounging against the Inquiry Desk was a tall, lanky young man; keen-faced, his most noticeable feature being a crop of unruly black hair, worn somewhat long. At the detective’s entrance he looked up and moved forward, briskly, to meet him.

“Raid on Police Headquarters, Mason?” He spoke in a deep voice, carrying a hint of laughter. “Clarke tells me Headquarters have been shrouded in darkness for the past quarter of an hour. Anything wrong?

“Darkness, certainly” Mason spoke thoughtfully. “But so far I have failed to discover anything but a fuse blown out. Alec Branston of the ‘Mirror* staff, if I’m not mistaken?” “On night rounds,” Branston nooded affirmatively. “You’ve got a good memory, .inspector. By the way, ..there’s congratulations due to a well-earned step, I believe.” “Thanks! Anything interesting happening to-night?” “I should ask you that, but I suppose you’re too big a swell in the police force, now. I gathered at Darlinghurst that one of their men claims to have disturbed the Shadow Crook at work, to-night.” “The Shadow Crook!” Mason spoke quickly. “Where, and at what time?” “Early in the evening, just after dusk.” The reporter looked inquisitively at the detective. “I believe at one of the flats in Walcott Road.” For a full minute the inspector remained silent. If the Shadow Crook had been operating at Darlinghurst early in the evening it was improbable he would be hanging about Police Headquarters a couple of hours later. Yet, there had been plenty of time for him to cover the intervening distance.

“Who is the Shadow Crook?” The detective turned to the newspaper man. “Remember, Branston. I've been in the country for the past two years. Down here you seem to be full of him. Grime mentioned him to-night. The Superintendent had a word to say about him, yesterday. Seems to be a hobby to place everything, otherwise unexplainable, on the shoulders of the Shadow Crook. What’s your theory?” “Answer your own questions correctly and I’ll have a fine front-page story in the ‘Mirror’ to-morrow morning.” Branston laughed. “All that’s known is that the Shadow Crook appears to have a marvellous ability in getting out of tight corners. He appears at unexpected places, and just when it seems he’s cornered he melts into thin air. There’s a dozen mysterious burglaries placed to his credit and every one of them have unique features. There’s half a hundred or so, ordinary affairs, so far unexplained, accredited to him, without the slightest evidence. I’m prepared to accept the dozen. The others —well, any of them could have been committed by well-known Sydney crooks.” “Been seen? Of course. You mentioned a Darlinghurst man saw him tonight. Has he booked a description?” “Over medium’ height. Thin, hol-low-chested . Wears a brown overcoat, collar turned up, grey hat, much stained, pulled down well over his eyes.” Branston was reading from a pad of papers he had pulled from his pocket. “Moves absolutely silent —like a shadow. Probably on rubber heels and soles.”

“Hump!” The Inspector turned to Collins. “How’s that?” “Fits him to a T!” exclaimed the constable.

“He’s been here?” the journalist produced a pencil. “What happened?” “That’s what I’d like to know. By the way, Branston, anyone beside the Darlinghurst man seen him?” Two or three people who have been robbed have reported they have seen him.” Branston was writing rapidly. “But, they weren’t able to provide a description. All they could say was that a shadow slipped past them. No sound, no substance, according to their account —nothing tangible. That’s how he got the name of the Shadow Crook.” “Then it wasn’t the sudden darkness acting on fevered imaginations.” Mason mused. “But, I didn’t think there was a crook in Sydney with the cheek to walk into Police Headquarters and fuse the electric lights.” “Fuse the electric lights!” The news paper-man’s pencil flew over the paper. “Here, hold hard!” Mason made a grab for the wad of papers the journalist held. “That’s not for publication, y’know.” “Stalled!” Branston grinned cheerfully, -evading the clutching hand. “What’s the good of being mean ovei’ the best storey I’m likely to get tonight. Got into Police Headquarters, did he, and fused the lights? Well, what happened? Gold plate all safe?” “We must erect a wing at Long Bay for inquisitive journalists.” Mason laughed. “Yes. The gold plate’s quite safe. Use the tale, if you like, Branston, but don’t quote it as official. What the Shadow Crook was after I can’t understand. Why, it wouldn’t pay even a newspaper man to try and rob Headquarters at this time of night Say, Clarke. Have you seen Anderson, through all this coinmotion?” “No, Inspector.”

“I’ll have another look at his office. If he’s not there this time, I’m off. You needn’t wait, Swartz. Fun’s over for the night. Good-night, Branston. Hope to be able to give you a better story, next, time.”

He turned down the corridor to the Finger-print Department. Anderson’s door was shut and locked, but under the edge of the door still showed the thin line of light. It seemed strange that so careful a man as Sergeant Anderson should be away from his room for any considerable length of time and leave his lights burning. Mason placed his ear against the panel of the door and listened. For some moments he could hear nothing. Then he thought he heard sounds of muffled Scrapings within the room. He knocked sharply, but no answer came, only the dulled shufflings—now more plainly. He swung round and went to the Inquiry Desk. “Where are the keys of the doors, Clarke?” “On tho board in the main office Inspector. Anything wrong?” “Don’t know. Anderson’s room is locked but the light is still burning.

1 think I can hear someone inside, but when I knocked I got no answer.” 'rhe constable took a key from his desk and went into the main office. He returned dangling a bunch of keys from his fingers and went to Sergeant Anderson’s office, followed by the Inspector, Branston and Constable Collins. All the lights were on in the large room. The four men stood just within the room, searching the space with their eyes. It appeared empty—as if the Sergeant had left it to obtain something from another part of the building. On the table stood one of tine file drawers. Other drawers were pulled halfway out from the steel cabinets. By the file on the table was a blotting pad and on it a few re-cord-cards, across them a gold-mount-ed fountain pen.

Constable Clarke walked slowly around the big table and halted with an exclamation of dismay. The others crowded after him, to look down on a man bound and gaggeg, lying halfjmder .the . table. It. was ...Sergeant Anderson. Mason dropped to his knees and sawed at the bonds with his pocket knife. Branston stood watching for some moments then wandered carelessly around the room, searching the files with eager eyes. At length he stopped and bent over a half-open drawer.

“Someone’s been at this cabinet, Mason,” he called. “What’s that?” The Inspector left the two constables to complete releasing Anderson from his bonds and went to the journalist’s side. For a moment he examined the records Branston indicated. “These seem complete. What makes you think they have been tampered with?” “Anderson’s been working a line of drawers on the other side of the room, and there’s no connection between them and these files. Ask him?” The newspaper man spoke curtly. Mason looked round. The Sergeant was struggling to his feet, dazed and groggy. One of the constables was drawing to him a snivel chair. The Inspector waited until the man was seated, then spoke. “Been working over here, Anderson?” The constables swung the chair round so that the Sergeant faced the line of cabinets by which Mason stood. “No.” Alderson struggled t?o his feet and supported by the constables staggered to where the detective and Branston stood. “I’ve been working BX3, WII and Ze2 —the particulars you asked me to get out for you, to-day. These files are PURL I haven’t touched them.” “Sit down, man.” The Inspector drew a chair forward. “Now, what happened? I’ve been to and from your room a dozen times during the past hour and never caught sight of you—you’ve not been lying under that table all that time?”

“So far as I know I’ve only been here a few minutes.” The man spoke in a weak voice. “Your details wanted some searching out and I’ve had to run about the building collecting them.” “How long ago did you enter this room, for the last time —when you got that smack on the head.” Mason looked at his watch. “It’s ten-five, now.” “Then I’ve laid there about a quarter of an hour.” Anderson, a slight, grey-haired man with a thin, clever face, spoke painfully. “I was in the Commissioner’s offices when the quar-ter-to-ten chimed. I came down here and found I -wanted some record-cards and went to the storeroom downstairs for them. As 1 went to re-enter this room something struck me on the head, and 1 went out.” “Sandbag.” The Inspector was exploring the Sergeant’s head with gentle fingers. “You’ve a whale of a bruise here. We’ll got the surgeon in a minute and have you doctored up. First tell me what happened after you were knocked down?” “Don’t know. 1 was out.” The man spoke after a considerable pause. “I have a hazy notion there was someone in the room, moving about, but there wasn’t a sound. It was just like a dream-shadow flitting between my closed eye-lids and the lights, now and then.” “The Shadow Crook!” Branston spoke the words under his breath, but Mason heard and turned frowningly on him. “Then I heard someone at the door and tried to cry out,” Anderson continued. “I tried to cry out, but I w T as gagged. I shuffled my feet on the floor and tried to drum my heels, but I was tied too tight for that. Whoever was at the door went away and I thought I was to lie here all night unless Clarke discovered my lights were burning and opened the door to switch them off. I tell you, I was relieved when 1 heard the key in the door.” The Inspector looked from the Sergeant to the disordered files-drawer. For some minutes he was silent, frowning thoughtfully. “Let’s get this straight,” he spoke suddenly. “Do you remember the lights going out? Where were you then?” “Here.” Anderson answered promptly. “I had a candle in the room and found it. I had just recommenced work by its light when I found I wanted the cards and went downstairs for them.” “Leaving your door unlocked?” “Yes. 1 knew I would only be away a couple of minutes.” “You camo back before the lights were on again and someone stoushed you on the head.” Mason spoke care'fully. “Was he inside or outside the room?” “Inside the room. I would have seen him if he had been in the corridor, for I took the candle with me. So far as I understand he must have stood behind the door. When ho hit me I pitched forward into the room.” “Then he was waiting for you.” The Inspector paused before continuing his examination. “Seems he manages to get about very easily and quietly.” “Who?” asked the newspaper man with a slight smile.

(To be Continued).