THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

Taranaki Daily News, 8 August 1930, Page 14

THE SIX-HOUR MYSTERY

By

ANTONY MARSDEN

PART I. THE FIRST HOUR. “Where am I?” The man in the portico 6at up with dazed and staling eyes. “Golden Calf Hotel.” “Southampton^—or ’Frisco?” “Neither, eon. Charing’ Cross.” . The man’s gaze turned painfully from one to another of them as he digested this information. Then, - faintly still, .“What’s the time?’’- '■ “Six o’clock.” “Afternoon? Or —"

“Now, my. boy, you must go easy on the questions for a bit . . . All right.. I’ll take charge of him.” The greyhaired’ doctor had returned ffom stoopiha over his surgical case, and took the place of the commissionaire in supporting the patient’s shoulders. ‘Drink this,” he advised. “Gosh!”, The prostrate man obeyed, meekly enough; but he had hardly swallowed* what the doctor gave him .when a sudden, light of memory, came into his eves, and he struggled violently to a sitting. posture. “Say, where’s that darned taxi? Where’s that fellow I—. “Steady steady!” The doctors tone was firm. ’ “You won’t want a taxi for an hour or two! But you’re in good hands.” He turned to the manager of the hotel, who, summoned hastily, had just emerged through the big doors. to join the group. .“He’ll be all right presently; but get him inside—and tuin this dam’crowd away.”’ . Half helped, half carried by the doctor and manager, the patient passed through the doors into the lounge of the hotel. Thin white wraiths of fog swirled in after them as the doors swung to; outside the commissionaire was waving away the little ring of curious onlookers with many good-natured assurances that “the circus was In the next street; whilst on the kerb loomed the broad back of a constable.in colloquy with tae driver of a taxi drawn up there. . " In a few minutes the taxi wheeled awav and disappeared, while the policeman, notebook in hand, pushed through the swing doors and approached the group, the commissionaire st his heels. • “Manager here, please? ' • “I am.” “I’ll have to ask you for any particulars you, can give me, sir.” “I don’t know anything about it . . . Davis!” The manager beckoned the commissionaire. “This is the outside porter, officer. Better ask him.” The commissionaire nodded. “I was on duty at the vestibule when a taxi o jw up five minutes ago. I opened the cab door, and a gent near fell out on me. Collapsed on the pavement. I thought he was drunk at first,, but I soon saw there, was something funnier than that wrong with him. I called in to the bureau clerk and he fetched, a doctor —him that’s there; he’s staying at the hotel. I asked the taxi-man to wait; and that’s all I can. tell you.” The doctor 7 eroded towards them. He had settled his patient comfortably on a -couch at the far end. of the lounge, where he lay back with his eyes closed, liis lips moving spasmodically. The doctor addressed ..the constable: “You’ve questioned the taxi-driver, i suppose?’’ ... , ' “Yes, sir. He picked up his., fare at Waterloo Station. - Told to drive to the Strand. Rounding Trafalgar Square he called back to ask what part of ' the Strand the gentleman wanted. ‘Golaen Calf Hotel,’ says he.” . . , , , “But that’s impossible,” toe uoctor interposed sharply. ' ' “You mean, sir—” “This ni n’s been doped. A whiff of chloroform, ■l' fancy. He couldn’t have re-direeted the driver crossing Trafalgar Square; for it’s as certain as anything can be that he was unconscious then.” The policeman nodded. “The same thiiio- occurred to me. sir. I asked the driver particular, did he turn round and •eee the fare when he was given the redirection; but he said no, he had to keep his-eyes ahead because o’ the fog, and o’ course a voice might be anyone’s, -so to speak.” - . . “I see you’ve got-' your wits about you,” the doctor commented approvingly. . “Did' the driver tell you anything else?” .

“Yes, sir. The near-side -door n.as swinging loose when he pulled up .here. Anyone might have jumped out easy enough, at the corner by St. Martin’s. So if- the - gentleman’s been chloroformed” —-the uol-iceinan shiuggej. —‘•it’s his own evidence that’s going to help r.n most.” “Well Irnve to wait for Uiat, tlm ■ doctor replied. “How. long, sir.-” .. “Ten minutes. Twenty, perhaps. “Then if you don’t mind standing bv, ; sir, I’ll just slip .across to the station-yard for the detective-inspector on duty* This looks like being his job!” And the policeman departed. The fog, which was thick at Watciloo, was "white, patchy, and drifting round Charing Cross. By this time the little e-roup of loiterers who had gathered in front of the hotel had scattered. They went their way indifferent; all save one, a thick-set individual with his hat pulled over Ins eyes, who had hung on the outskirts o' the ring, craning forward curiously to catch the doctor’s verdict. For him, seemingly, the incident was by no means closed. His first act, when he had turned a skip into a deserted alley, was to take from the pocket of liis overcoat a pad of cotton wool, from which came a sickly odour, and which he pushed hastily between the bars of a convenient grid; then, picking his wav across the Strand, he entered the station yard and made for the nearest telephone box. About the time when the policeman left the. hotel the man. m the broad-brim med hat was demanding a number of a suburban exchange, “Miss Irma? .... I have a message from your father. Miss. I’m jiiraid lies met with an accident . . . No, nothing serious. But he wants you to join him at the Golden Calf Hotel, Charing Cross . . . Yes, at once, if you can, Al.ns. Thank vtm. I’ll tell him so.” He rang off. and at once asked for a second ° number on the same exchange. This time apparently no explanations were needed; his message was terse and to the point. _ “That you, boss’ . . . Yes, I’ve- met him. But there was nothing there . .. No I mean what I say. Nothing on him—no wallet, no.:letters even; nix .but a wad of dollar bills. So it’s up to you. , / . Yes, he’s dumped where vou said.

I’ve ju»t rung the bird; she's joining him there right away. You’re O.K. for an hour or two.” ; , There followed some sort, of aetaued inquiry from the other end of the line, whereat the man chuckled harshly.. “Why, that’s be a miracle like raising the dead! But if he does get on his pins within , the next half-hour, 111 be watching and let you know , . . Sure, at the bungalow, of course!” Leaving the box, the man recrossed the Strand. . After a moment’s heeitation lie entered, an outfitter’s, where he proceeded to buy himself a bowlei stuffing his own soft felt into the pocket of his overcoat., A pair of horn-rimmed o-lasses completed the change in his up pearance. The fog was hardly noticeable as he emerged once more on to the pavement.'-He strolled along for a few yards till he came to a taxi drawn tip within sight of the hotel. “Where to, sir?” the driver asked as he climbed in. “No where,” was the unexpected answer. .“Just sit right there and finish your pipe, son. I’ve a date widi a friend!””.

“But, Mr—ef—Smith, you mit it’s rather unusual for anyone your present position to withhold information from the police?” Tlie man reclining in a room or the Golden Calf shook his head, ‘Tin not withholding any. Maybe John Smith s mv name alright; or maybe I just don t want to advertise myself as a mutt, for . all your confidence-crooks to take a shot at. * Either way, John Smith’s as good a name as any other, I guese! In the background the hotel manager and the doctor exchanged glances; it did iiot need the perplexed look on the inspector’s face to tell them that his.inquiry was not working out according to the ’ normal routine of the Yard. The man on the couch resumed, belligerent: . “It ain’t no crime, if a mans fool enough to let himself be chloroformed in a taxi-cab. Maybe it ought to be, but its not. I’ll say, you folks have got me sore’ with your darned cross-questioning —that pop.-eyed Pressman, above all— - “Pressman ?” The detective turned to the manager. . , “There was a Pressman in before you came, inspector. You know what the J - are —Im tried to get a story but of Mr. Mr Smith; and when he couldn’t sue- < ceed he pulled out a camera snap- ’ ped Mr. Smith as lie lay in the lounge. I “But he’d no business to. do that.” The two had lowered their tones, but , the man on the couch interrupted them, ' bitterly: “Business or not, he’ll have my mim alk over London to-morrow.! . This time to-morrow PH be the ambition of every, self-respecting crook in your darned metropolis—” The inspector repressed z. sniue“Come, sir, it’s not so bad as taatWe’ll have the photo, stopped.” “Can you. I’d thank you more for that than for patching the mail that doped me.” ’ “You may leave the photo, to me,. . At the same time,” the inspector con- ' tinned diplomatically. “I’d be grateful for any information that might lead to an arrest.” •‘I guess you would.” The man s tone was entirely non-committal. . ■ “In the interests of public safety, tlie 1 defective pursued. ’ . • ' “Your public safety doesn’t worry me any.” was the quiet reply. “For your own satisfaction, then.” “Me? Why, I’m satisfied enough, if you can stop that photo. I’ve .not oeen robbed or hurt. And I’m feeling fine/ the stranger assured him blandly. The inspector looked straight at him. “ Chen I’ll just nut it this way,” he resumed alter a tiny pause. ’ “That photo, can be stopped if I give the word. .But I’m afraid I’ll have fio time to see to it —till this inquiry’s done.” The stranger glanced up- snarply. Then, as though realising that his obstinacy had met its match, he-ga'e the ghost of a smile. “Shoot, then!’- w shrugged resignedly. ' „ “You’re 4>.n American, I think? ' “You’re' a detective, sure. . “How long-have you been m London? ’Bout an hour,” “Luggage with you'.”' “No. I stored it in the depot a. Waterloo” “You took a taxi from outside Waterloo to the Strand. Where you alone?” “At tne start I was.” “And then, I suppose, a man pushed I in just as you got-under way, and asked you to let him split the taxi with you, I as lie couldn't get- another one in the | 10" ?” . The stranger looked at the detective ; with a shade more of respect. ‘ Wny ; now, you've got him word for woid. I Was he a friend of yours?” | The inspector smiled. “Don’t. know .1 I wouldn’t .wonder. ■ But it's an old, trick.” , x I “Is that so? Well, Im sure know u.! next, time,” ■■ the American commented drily. ' ' i . . Tlie detective paused. .To the two men who watched, it was quite evident that he was needing all his tact and patience to pursue this dialogue—this duel, rather; for-the American’s ruffled temper was by no means allayed, and though he- answered promptly enough; his demeanor was far from friendly; rather, he. showed a sort of aimed neutrality, and was quite obviously rrivifm no more information away than he tlmught fit. '. ’ " ’ Tlie inspector leaned forward. Now, eir, what'you can tell me. next may prove of great value. How did this man assault you?'’ ■ “Whv, right off. Almost bciore we were outside the depot'yard.” “But in what way? He used force, •I presumably? You’re pretty strong yourself.” “I was off my guard.. He slipped an i arm across my throat from behind 1 was leaning forward —and hold the pad against my face with his free hand. ; | .“Was the pad a handkerchief?” the ; ’ inspector asked keenly. - “It was not, sir,” the other sneered, i “And if it had been I'd no lime to make r O' t his name on it!” _ ’ The detective ignored this gibe. y I ask you that, because we can. somc- ■ times recognise a crook by his methou- - If it wasn’t a handkerchie—” “It was a pad. Cotton-wool. , “Ah —.” Once more the detective paused, as though consulting, his t memory. Then, resuming: “And his appearance?” • i “Thick-set. Clean-shaved. A Tn.by t hat and an overcoat.” (To bo Continued).