INSPECTOR PLAYFAIR’S NOTEBOOK—16 LIGHT-FINGERED LILY

Southland Times, Issue 23652, 29 October 1938, Page 13

INSPECTOR PLAYFAIR’S NOTEBOOK—16 LIGHT-FINGERED LILY

r T ! HE conviction of Lily Deep-waller—“Light-Fingered Lily” her friends called her —was not exactly a triumph for Sergeant Dumbell. However, all’s well that ends well, as Joshua Playfair unoriginally remarked.

It was on a foggy morning in November that he first introduced Lily to Dumbell’s notice. “That you, Dumbell?” was his greeting when, in answer to his summons, his subordinate appeared. “Sit down and take some instructions; I’m in a hurry.” Dumbell obediently produced his notebook.

“Put this down,” said Playfair. Miss Lily Deepwaller, of 15b, Catamaran Gardens, S.W. Know it?—it’s a block of flats, somewhere off Basinghall road. Miss Lily Deepwaller, Dumbell, is one of our more competent women crooks.” He took up a paper from his desk. “Three—four—five thefts—jewellery mostly, in one case furs—are believed to stand to her account. The last one was the burglary at Mrs Ednitch’s, a couple of days ago. “But so far, Dumbell, we haven’t the evidence we want. We’re _ fairly ■sure that our Lily does the thieving; we know that, in three of the five cases at least, the stolen articles have been disposed of by Mr Isaac Hoopinghoe. You know Hoopinghoe —a fat, genial fellow with a fund of funny stories? Well, he and Lily are in the game together.” Dumbell looked up from his notes. “If you know all that, sir, why don’t you pull in Hoopinghoe and get him to split on Lily?” “Ah!” said Playfair. “I thought you might ask me that. Glad to see the grey matter so active, Dumbell. However, there are two answers to your question.

“The first is that Hoopinghoe wouldn’t split on Lily anyway. Chaps like him don’t; they’ve nothing to gain and quite a bit to lose. The second is that, unless we can get evidence against Lily, there’s not much of a case against Hoopinghoe.

“Tax him with receiving stolen property and he’ll fob us off with some cock-and-bull story. But prove—as I hope to do—the connection between him and his pal Miss Deepwaller, and we’ve something pretty definite to go on.

“I see,” said Dumbell. . “Yes, I get the idea, sir. And what I’ve got to do is to tail this girl Deepwaller, in the hope that the trail leads me to Hoopinghoe?” “You’ve got it in one,” said Playfair.

Alas! Sergeant Dumbell’s performance fell short of his intentions. He was waiting, that afternoon, outside Miss Deepwaller’s flat when she emerged dressed for the street. An experienced “trailer,” he had no difficulty in following her when she set off for the nearest tube station.

But Light-Fingered Lily, though she showed no consciousness of pursuit, was evidently a pretty old hand. At Piccadilly Circus she entered a train bound for Baker street. Dumbell followed, keeping as close to her as he could.

But at Oxford Circus, just as th® automatic doors were closing, Lily nipped off the train. Dumbell, despite heroic efforts to alight, found himself swept onwards. He knew that for the time being, he had lost her. All he could do was to phone the Yard, where Playfair, tendering ironical sympathies, instructed him to go back to Catamaran Gardens and begin all over again. Meanwhile Miss Deepwaller, having ascertained beyond shadow of doubt that no one was following her, had met Mr Isaac Hoopinghoe at a pre-arranged rendezvous. This was a sitting-room in the Westways Hotel, a modest establishment near King’s Cross. Their conversation was brief, but, from Lily’s point of view, eminently satisfactory. “All well?” she asked, as her confederate handed her a stiff whisky and soda.

“All well,” answered Mr Hoopinghoe. “Nice little packet I’ve got for you, Lily. Like to check up on it now.”

Lily nodded. She took from a bag a small notebook. In this was scribbled a list of numbers, with various cabalistic signs that had reference to her last haul.

Hoopinghoe produced a similar notebook which, opened at the appropriate page, he handed to his partner. This bore a list of numbers corresponding to those in Lily’s list. Against each was a pencilled figure: the amount which Hoopinghoe was prepared to pay for the article in question. There was nothing about either list which could be regarded as incriminating.

Lily took Hoopinghoe’s book and pored over the two lists. Then she meticulously totalled Hoopinghoe’s figures. “Two ninety-five,” was her comment. Hoopinghoe nodded. “Not so dusty, Ike,” said Lily. “But make it a level three hundred for luck, won’t you?” Hoopinghoe laughed jovially. “Business is business, Lily,” he said putting back , his book in his pocket. “But just this once—you’ve been a good girl and you shall have it. Til be sending it you in a week or so.” A few minutes later they parted. The’ denouement was rapid and unexpected. The following morning Mr Hoopinghoe, busy at his Holborn office, was summoned to Scotland Yard. Taxed with participation in LightFingered Lily’s thefts, he denied all knowledge both of the thefts and of the lady. He was so certain they had not been seen together, that he felt fully justified in taking a truculent line. Was he anxious to help the Yard? Certainly. Did he mind being searched? Not at all. Could he throw any light on the figures in his book?

Whatever light the Inspector might require. The figures' referred, he _ said, to certain gambling transactions; and these he circumstantially explained. In short, he was not so much pained as altogether astonished when, at the close of the interview, Joshua Playfair arrested him. Mr felt sure—and in this at least he was justified—that Lily Deepwaller, pulled in soon afterwards by Dumbell, had not said a word against him.

What then was the evidence on which Hoopinghoe was arrested?

((Solution on Page 23)