"THE THIRD MAN.”

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXV, Issue 3372, 1 October 1931, Page 7

"THE THIRD MAN.”

n By C. K. THOMPSON, n nnnnnnnnnntrannn]

CHAPTER IV. The car had swept by before the inspector had a chance to catch a glimpse of the occupant. Green, heedless of the swirling traffic, dashed into the middle of the street and had sprung on to the running-board of another car before Bassington could collect his wits. "I'm from the police," bellowed Green, in the ear of the startled driver. "Chase that blue sedan, and if you catch it, I'll make your fortune." Without waiting for a reply he vaulted the door and sank into the seat beside the driver who, fortunately, did not have a passenger to worry about. Therefore, he merely shrugged his shoulders and followed the detectivesergeant's instructions.

Bassington stood on the kerb and gazed after the vehicle which contained his confrere and then, with a shrug of the shoulders, turned on his heel and made his way up Martin Place.. Reaching the Castlereagh Street intersection, he paused in indecision and then retracted his steps. Back in Pitt Street, he boarded a Railway-bound tram which deposited him at the station. He dived into the subway and came out into Chalmer3 Street. A few minutes' walk brought him to the mouth of an evil-smelling alley into which he dived, presently coming to a full stop before a dilapidated back gate. He had some trouble with the rusty catch before he managed to open it.

Threading his way through a medley of old boxes, tins and rubbish, he came to a small door on which he rapped heavily. He did not have long to wait, the door swinging open with startling suddenness, to reveal a de-crepit-looking old hag who drew back in some confusion when she saw who the visitor was.

"Don't be scared, Sadie," said Bassington, pleasantly. "My mission is one of peace. Is Stumpy in?" The old woman eyed him suspiciously.

"Wot's 'e bin up to now Mr. Bassington?" she demanded. "If 'e's bin on the pinch I know nothink about it, B'welp me I don't. 1.. ." Bassington regarded her gravely. "Guilty conscience at work?" he inquired.

She leered at him in horrible fashion and cackled.

"None of them jokes, Inspector," she said, wagging a dirty finger at him. The inspector looked at the hag with ill-concealed disfavour, and, motioning her to stand aside, entered the dingy hall. He apparently knew his way about for, without pause, he ascended the rickety stairs and banged on a door on the first landing. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, he threw open the door. Stretched out at full length on a dirty bunk in the corner was Stumpy Phegan, professional pickpocket and racecourse tout. He sprang to his feet with a surprised oath on seeing Bassington.

"Say, what's the little game, Inspector?" he said, shrilly. "You ain't got nothing on me, and where's your license to come barging in on a man like this? You police think you can do anything you like to a bloke just because you've pinched him once or twice."

The inspector smiled pleasantly at the crook's discomfiture. Stumpy had been well known on the best courses years before, but known in a different guise to that in which he now appeared. An ingrained inability to ride straight had lost him his jockey's license, and an outraged committee of stewards had eventually warned him off the Turf for life. A little man with a broken nose, a hare-lip and sandy hair —that, in short, was Stumpy Phegan.

Without invitation, Inspector Bassington sat down on the only chair the room boasted and waved Stumpy back to the bed in the corner.

"To set your mind at rest, my dear Stumpy," he said, addressing the bewildered and alarmed ex-jockey, "I have to inform you that this visit is quite unconnected with any crime of yours, past or contemplated. This is a private visit, designed to allow you to give some of that aid to the police that you have been simply bursting to give all these years." Phegan sat down on the bed and lighted a cigarette. His hand trembled slightly as he did so.

"Come out into the open Mr. Inspector and say just what you mean." He chuckled. "Fancy the cops wanting Stumpy ?Ph!egan to help theml Stiffen the crows, but that's richl" and he laughed in a cracked key. "Anyhow," he said, with a sudden change of manner, "I ain't no stool-pigeon, so if you want to jug anyone, you can do it on your own hook, old cock." "Stumpy, my friend, don't get nasty," warned Bassington. "You ought to think yourself lucky that a full-blown inspector is visiting you . ." "Gut it all out, Mr. Bassington," begged the tout. "You can bet your bottom dollar that there's something big doing behind all this palaver. Let's have it straight and then I'll tell you if I'll help any." "Well," began the inspector, after a pause. "What do you know about a chap called John Hammersmith?" "Nothing," exclaimed Stumpy, deliberately. "You used to ride for him when he

(To be continued.)

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kept a string of horses at Randwick," said the inspector, patiently. Stumpy nodded.

"I did, but I know nothing about him," he repeated. "Anyhow, he's in quod for ten years, thanks to that brother of yours—evidence framed, of course."

"Good Gawd," he went on, bitterly, "isn't it enough for you coves to jug a man for ten years without wanting to kick him about while he's in there? Oh, I know your brother and his sweet ways! Sent me to quod for two years for next to nothing. I. . ." "Leave that out of it, Phegan," said the detective, sharply. "It might interest you to know that Mr. Justice Bassington was murdered last night and that Hammersmith is at large, having slipped his escort. It will be in all the papers this afternoon, I guess. Now, what have you to say?"

"Nothing, I tell you," insisted Stumpy. "Say, is that true? I mean about the Judge getting killed and Hammersmith getting away? Guess you ain't got far to look for the murderer, what?"

"I want you to tell me all you know about Hammersmith." "Why?"

"Never mind why, my friend. Now come across with it," said Bassington, curtly. "You're rather a pal of Hammersmith's, aren't you?"

"Where do you get that stuff from?" sneered the tout. "I'd. make a fine friend for a rich cove like him, wouldn't I? My oath, I would—l don't think."

"Tell me this, then," said Bassington, looking at him squarely. "Why does he pay you a fiver a week for nothing. Oh, I know all about it," he continued, as Phegan gave vent to an exclamation. "It doesn't matter how, but Ido know. Let me have the truth and quick."

"Why shouldn't a cove help a cove if he wants to," said the fellow, sullenly. "Anyhow, now that he's in quod I don't get anything from him at all."

"He's not in gaol, I tell you!" "Neither he is," mused Stumpy, thoughtfully.

"If Hammersmith wishes to give the deserving poor money, he should not send it to them by cheque. Easy things to trace, cheques," said Bassington. The crook sneered.

"So that's how you found out, eh? For a minute I. thought you'd done something clever!"

"What is that money for?" demanded Bassington, again. "I wont tell you, and you can't force me," roared Phegan.

Bassington got up from his chair suddenly.

"So be it, Stumpy," he said, and went, leaving the crook as bewildered as he had been when the detective first arrived.

The inspector made straight for headquarters and the first man he met on his arrival was Green.

"He gave met the slip on the Parramatta Road," said the sergeant, mournfully. "We got stuck in a traffic jamb and when my car got through Hammersmith had vanished." "Sure it was him?"

"Positive," said Green, definitely. Bassington told him of the visit of Stumpy Phegan and hinted at hidden possibilities in the interview. He also issued certain instructions to a plain-clothes man and then, taking Green with him, set out for the scene of the murder.

White-faced, and bearing evidence of the terrible tragedy which had descended upon her, Ayesha met them in the hall and led them to the spacious drawing-room, where the inspector seated himself on the lounge at his niece's side. "Bear up, my dear," he said, gently, patting her little hand. The girl smiled wanly, but did not reply. "I'm not going to bother you with any fool questions Ayesha," he said, "but I want to talk to --the servants, particularly the maid. You may stay here while I question her, or leave if you want to." "I'll go and get her," said the .girl, and rose with a smothered sob and quitted the room. "Brave little woman, that," muttered Bassington, and Green nodded his silent agreement. When the diminutive maid entered the room, she looked from one to the other appealingly. Bassington motioned her a chair and spoke reassuringly. "I won't keep you long," he said. , "Yes," said the girl, in reply to his first question, "the man from the jeweller's turned up last night, but I had orders to tell him when he came that the clock was going and that he was not needed. He went away at once. "Can you tell me at what time the clock started going?"