The Third Man

Huntly Press and District Gazette, Volume XVIII, 17 November 1931, Page 4

The Third Man

By

C. K. THOMPSON

(Copyright.)

She was half-way there when she felt a light touch on the shoulder and swung round to confront the stranger. In his hand was her suitcase, slightly battered. He offered it to her dumbly, but with a gentle smile. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she began, and then broke off in slight confusion. lie nodded. “You—you, may speak,” she said, and blushed. With an air of proprietorship he took her by the arm and hurried her to the other train and helped her aboard. They were able to get another compartment to themselves, but, Ayesha felt embarrassed. Noticing it, Ihe man did not trouble her, nor did be speak until the relief train had begun to move. Then: “I trust you ore unhurt? ' he inquired solicitously. She nodded. "Good,” he said, tersely. ‘‘And you?” she asked. ‘‘Quite 0.K., thanks, Miss . . .” ‘‘My name is Ayesha Bassington,” she replied. “I'm William Smith—Bill, for short,” he returned, and smiled. She blushed in some confusion and mentally hated herself for it; why, she could not say. “Are you any relation to the—er—late Mr. Justice Bassington?” he inquired, diffidently. “He was my father,” she replied, in a low voice. William Smith drew a deep breath. “I really cannot tell you how sorry I am for having annoyed you earlier in this exciting day," he said. "I could not, of course, have known . . . anyhow, your dress should have . . . excuse me, Miss Bassington, I don’t know what I am talking about!” be broke off shortly. “Please don’t apologise Mr. Smith,” she said, gravely. “Any offensiveness on your part is quite atoned for now." “Thank you, Miss Bassington," he said, simply, and did not speak for the remainder of the journey to Gosford, where he quitted the train. It was with an air of embarrassment that he offered the girl a cup of tea a few minutes later. Ayesha felt in great need of the stimulant and thanked him for his thought. I! seemed to break the ice, for, after the train had set out on its non-stop run to Newcastle, they were chatting like old friends. It was the first time in Avesha’s life that she had been on such friendly terms with a member of the opposite sex, and a stranger at that, but a railway smash is a great ripener of acquaintanceships, especially if one is saved from injury by one's acquaintance. Ayesha’s dominant feeling was one of regret as, some hours later, the train steamed into West Maitland station. She did not wish to see the last of this newly-made friend. The same thought was in the mind of William Smith. He told himself that he did not ever want to lose sight of this interesting girl, but. he had to. lie had to put. her, of all girls, right out of bis life. “You will have friends to meet you, Miss Bassington?” lie inquired. “Yes, my Aunt Ethel. Sh« lives at Porn,” she nodded. “I, myself, expect, a friend to meet me —a curious little gentleman, bu» here we are at Maitland. 1 am glad to have been of some small service to you. Miss Bassington. I knew your father.” He suddenly wrenched open the door and, before the train bad come to a standstill, he was gone. She ran to the door and saw his form heading swiftly towards the barrier, and then temporarily lost interest in him i\n greeting her aunt, who stood on the platform eagerly scanning the train, which was hours overdue. “Oh, Ayesha, I’m so glad you came through that terrible accident all right. I knew you would be on that train. Troubles never come singly. What with the murder of poor, dear Horace, anything might happen to us these days. I shall get murdered in my bed, I know I shall. There must be a curse on us Bassingtons." Ayesha smiled. “But, Aunt Ethel, you are not a Bassington any longer. Added to that, you have a husband to protect you.” Aunt Ethel made a noise which, in another and commoner person, would have been termed a snort. “Your uncle James Silvertone could not protect anyone,” she said, acidly, as she led the way up the station steps to lbe luxurious open car which waited outside.

Just outside the station in Church Street she observed William Smith in conversation with a little, rat-like individual who seemed to be remonstrating with him on some matter. “I tell you, sir,” she heard him say* “you are a fool to come ere in daylight like this. Someone might spot you easily. Good Lord, guv’nor, ain’t you got no sense at all?” She could not hear the low-spoken reply, but she watched the ill-assorted pair as they walked towards a large, •dosed car standing just in front of her aunt’s. Then she received a shock which left her pale and trembling.' A man quietly slid from behind a row of waiting taxis and approached the other car. She saw his hand grasp William Smith by the shoulder and swing him round. Quite clearly she heard the stranger’s level tones: "John Hammersmith —I want you'" Quick as a lias'll, "William Smith" swung round and planted a (Ist squarely between the stranger's eyes, lie fell backwards into the gutter and at the same moment the car sprang forward. The man was on his feet again and rushed to her car. “I’m from the police,” he said. “Sorry to trouble you, hut I want your car. Follow that taxi, quick 1” Mr. Sllverldne’s driver twisted round in his seat and looked at his employer. In that lady’s eyes was a gleam of excitement. "Hop to it, Peter,” she cried, and the car darted off. The stranger in the seat near the driver. Up Church Street the two cars drove furiously. Turning to High Street the front car narrowly averted a collision with a startled youth on a

bicycle, but kept on, swung into Belmore Road, raced across the bridge over the Hunter, and along Bolwarra Road at top speed. The car in front had a lead of several hundred yards, but this gap increased steadily. The following car was slowing down. “What in hell is wrong with the contraption,” yelled Plain-clothes Constable Nettleton, in Peter’s ear. “Petrol supply failing,” said Peter, philosophically, as the car came to a stop. Nettleton sprang to the road and looked about, him. Not another car in sight. With clenched lists lie glared after the retreating motor containing John Hammersmith, murderer, and groaned. “Why the blazes don’t you keep your tank tilled?" he blared at the unflustered Peter. “Orders,” said Peter. “Only must have enough juice in to cover the trip contemplated. In this case, from Lorn to station and return.” Aunt Ethel approached the raging detective with the intention of calming him. “I always practise economy In these matters . . she began. “Blast economy,” roared the detective. “There goes a damned murdering scoundrel and I can’t catch him. Hey, you!” be suddenly bawled to a young man who came panting along on a motor-cycle. “Give me that machine 1” “Why should I?” demanded the youth, indignantly. “Police,” roared Nettleton, as he deftly jerked the youth from the saddle. Within a moment lie was mounted and away on a chase that looked hopeless from the start. “Oh, Aunty,” said Ayesha, with tears in her eyes, “I hope he doesn't catch him!” “So do I,” said Aunt Ethel, grimly. “I’ve never been spoken to in my life like that. I’ll report him to Inspector Rippingale!" CHAPTER VI. Ayesha Bassington strolled through the spacious grounds of the Silvertone home and held silent communion with the stars. In the house itself she could hear merry voices raised in song, while the stirring strains of a military band emanating from the radio mingled rather discordantly with the human vocal efforts. With a sad smile she thought that the least thing her aunt could have rlonc was to have allowed her peace und quiet on the first night she was staying at Lorn. Aunt Ethel was a little thoughtless. Her own brother and Ayesha’s dear father had been foully murdered not so very long before, but. the fact did not weigh heavily an Ethel Silvertone’s shoulders. Ayesha had watched her opportunity and liad slipped quietly through the open French windows into the garden. Presently she found what she

sought—a seat in a secluded portion of the grounds, and she sank down upon it, a prey to her own thoughts. Irresistibly they turned to “William Smith.” Was it possible that be was John Hammersmith, whose sensational escape while on his way to gaol had electrified Sydney? She remembered vaguely that Hammersmith had been found guilty of an attempt to murder a woman. lie had been the last man sent down by her dead father. Gould that man be a murderer? She trembled at the thought and tried to thrust it, from her. Then she remembered his exhibition of violence outside the railway station and shook her head. How had that offensive detective fared, she wondered. Of course, he was only doing his duty, she knew, but somehow, in her heart, she could not wish him success. She sighed, and wished that she could banish “William Smith" from her thoughts. A light touch on her shoulder caused her to turn, and she gave a little gasp of consternation as she saw the object of her thoughts standing behind the garden seat. “Why, Mr. Smith . . .” she began, in a voice that trembled. “Sorry if I startled you, Miss Bassington,” he said, softly, “but there is something I must see you about. 1 have been awaiting this opportunity for quite a while." Without invitation he sat down near the startled girl and fixed his eyes on her white face. “H-how did you know where I was staying?” she asked, hesitatingly. “Quite simple,” he said, easily. “There is a deal of talk in the town concerning the little episode of this , afternoon, and everybody seems to know the chief participants in it. I learned that your car belonged to Mrs. Silvertone and an obliging native ( pointed out the residence to me. Well, ( I lie rest was easy. I have been hanging around on the off-chance that 1 , would catch you alone.” , “Why?” “I‘m going to tell you a story,” he j replied. • ] “First of all,” said Ayesha, “tell me ( I lie meaning of this afternoon’s excitement. I heard that man call you , John Hammersmith. Are you indeed ( he?” “I am, Miss Bassington.” j Instinctively, she moved away from £ him, but he did not heed the movement. Instead, he began to speak , slowly. £ “Of course, I do not know if you j are Interested or not, but we gave that j detective the slip quite easily. His g motor-bike must have been a dud, A for we simply flew away from him. c However, that does not matter." a “You—you are a criminal,” she t breathed. c “The law would call me one, cer- j tainly, but in my own eyes I am noth- t rng of the kind.” “Miss Bassington,” he went on, “I s took this risk tonight for the sole purpose of telling you my story.” \ “Supposing I‘ do not wish to hear a it?” she said, cdidly. f “I knew your father very well,” he c said, disregarding her statement. “it. u was he who sent me to gaol—sent me down for (ten years because I attempted to rid the earth of some of its scum.” “Scum?” demanded the girl. “Why,

Mary Brierly, so the papers said, was a particular friend of yours.” “Friend?” he scoffed. “Please do not call a person like that a friend of mine I” “By the way," he added, quickly, “have the police discovered the murderer of your father?” She shook her head, and then a sudden thought struck her. “Mr. Hammersmith, what have you against my father? Why did you revile him from the dock? You said that you knew him. If you did, you knew nothing evil about him.” “Your father, Miss Bassington, is dead, and that wipes out all." “But why did you do it?” she insisted. “Because,” he replied, in level tones, “he was responsible for my being in the dock, and he knew it I” “What do you mean by that?” she said, hotly. “Really, Mr. Hammersmith, I cannot sit here and listen to you speak of my dead father like that. You threatened to kill him when you came out of gaol . . .” She broke off and gazed at him in horror. “You did kill him!” she cried, tremulously, and started to her feet. Quickly be rose and grasped her by the hand. With a cry she wrenched herself free and ran towards the house. He did not attempt to follow her, but, turning around, dived inlo the shrubbery and vanished. Reaching the verandah, Ayesha, with rapidly beating heart, paused. From the direction of the street she heard the purring of a car, which presently grew fainter as it vanished in the direction of the town.

Quickly she made her way to the telephone and in a few minutes was speaking to the police station. She panted out her tidings and was put on to no (ess a person than Detective Nettleton who, returning from his fruitless chase, had called into the station. With a promise to be round at the house as soon as possible, he rang off. There was a great deal of excitement. in the Silvertone home when Aunt Ethel, by dint of coaxing, extracted the story from her dainty niece. When Nettleton arrived the excitement reached fever heat, but the detective frustrated all efforts on the part of the guests to be present at Hie interview lie had with Ayesha that took place in a little sitting-room. The girl kept nothing back. She told him the full story of the train smash and of her conversation with Hammersmith in the garden. Nettleton looked grave. “I may as well tell you quite* frankly, Miss Bassington,” he told her, “that we suspect Hammersmith of being implicated in the death of your

father. He had threatened to kill him. you know. I suspect that he has a vendetta against your family for some reason, and lias followed you to Maitland, even at a great personal risk. I beg you to be very careful, and if he comes near you again do your best to detain him until you can communicate with us.” “Can you tell me anything about him?” she asked. Nettleton coloured slightly. “It is not good hearing,” he said. She repeated the question, but the detective shook bis head decisively. “He was mixed up with a woman,” lie said, tersely. She nodded and did not pursue the subject, much as she would have liked to. “I —I think I’ll return to Sydney . .” she commenced. “Don’t do that,” he said, quickly. “You would he of immense use to us here.” “As a decoy for Hammersmith?” she said, with heightened colour. “No thank you, Mr. Nettleton.” The detective looked confused. “Of course, I did not mean that,” he said, lamely, and rose to go. Immediately on his return to the police station, he put through a trunk call to headquarters and was fortunate enough to get Inspector Bassington. He told him briefly what had occurred during the day, and promised to have a detailed report in writing sent at once. Something the inspector I old him seemed lo afford him great satisfaction, for he was smiling as he turned away from the telephone in the charge-room. “Good news?” asked the lock-up man, absently. “The best,” returned Nettleton, still smiling. “That was Detective Inspector Bassington. He tells me that they have identified the other corpse—it was a chap called Harry Briefly.’’ “Don’t know him," said the lock-up keeper, with a yawn. “He’s a brother of the woman Hammersmith tried to murder,” explained Nettleton. “Is that so?” asked the other, interestedly. “Yes. Bassington said that Mary liaa been around imploring protection from friend Hammersmith and had mentioned that her brother was missing. At the same time a chap who worked for the Judge, chaffeur named Jim something-or-othcr, came in and told them at headquarters that lie had identified the body at the morgue. Mary was trotted around to have a squiz and she identified him, throwing a fancy faint immediately afterwards.” “You coves seem lo have a lot of excitement down there,” said the lockup keeper, with envy. “Tons of it," said Nettleton, moucstly, and launched out into a highly, coloured story of a fictitious murder which he had investigated singlehanded. The lock-up keeper did no! believe a word he said, but it helped to pass the time away! “That all the news you got from down south?” asked the man, after the story had been told. ‘‘Not quite all, but the rest will keep for a bit,” replied the detective, and quitted the station. The post office clock was striking midnight when he saw Stumpy Phegan. It came about in this fashion Nettleton was strolling aimlessly along High Street, in the direction of Horseshoe Road, when he noticed a car without lights rushing towards him. Something about it caused him to take a closer look and it was with a thrill that he realised that it was the same car in which Phegan and Hammersmith had made their spectacular dash through the streets earlier in the day. lie was helpless in the matter of stopping the car, and did not attempt to do so, but, as it flashed past him, he heard a shrill cry and was astounded to see a man fall heavily from it into the roadway. The car continued up the street without a pause. (To be continued).