“The Phantom Killer"

Taranaki Daily News, 27 November 1934, Page 11

“The Phantom Killer"

or “Ann’s Adventure In Crime”

By

COLIN HOPE.

CHAPTER 1. It was one of the most uninteresting inquests that had ever been held. P. C. Telleston recited the story of the finding of the bqdy of the deceased, in the mtid, at low tide, just below Woolwich; the bored police surgeon gave as his opinion that the man had died from drowning; and further evidence to the effect that a heavy: weight was tied around the man’s neck, brought the inevitable open verdict. The coroner made it fairly obvious that in his opinion, “Happy” Ford had committed suicide, and had purposely weighted himself to make sure that it was a quick job. “Happy” Ford, -well named for his easy-going nature, was very well-known to the police of London and of other big towns. His passing was no . great loss to society, but, as Assistant Commissioner Geoffrey remarked, there were many others whose end was far more desirable. Detective Superintendent Frame had no particular business at this dullest of dull inquests. Nominally he was off jr■ duty, but' he' was intensely’ interested, ft and afterwards, as he sat in a nearby teashop with, the inspector in charge of the case, he expressed his dissatisfaction with everything connected-with the in- ' quest, including the verdict. “I’d give a lot to know who tied that 1 weight around Happy’s neck, and pushed him into the river,” he said. “And I’d give a lot more to know why it was done.” “He might have done it himself,” the , inspector answered, but there was no conviction in his voice. “He might have done,” Frame agreed. “And you had better underline that word “might, ’ and write it in italics, too.' He might have done it, but, although I only bet once a year, on the Derby, I’ll lay five thousand pounds that I don’t possess to a penny that he was murdered. “Did you ever know a man less likely to commit suicide than Happy Ford? Had he any reason for doing it? No relawes, all his known breaks wiped out by a three-year stretch that he finished a year ago, quite well off—for a crook—and, of course, ‘Happy’.” The inspector nodded, and Frame went on:-- . • “There is not the slightest doubt that Ford was murdered, and when we know . who did it, and why it was done, I fancy j|we shall understand a lot that is puzzling ' us just at present.” * . Frame expressed, very much the same opinion to the Assistant Commissioner some two days later, and was a little surprised to find that the great man his view. ft “There is something pretty big behind it,” Geoffrey said, with decision. “And, more than that, there is somebody very big behind - it.- There have been six big bank robberies lately, and they have all been clever jobs. There have been other affairs, • too, well arranged, neat, with no loose ends hanging about. Somebody is really proving how easy it is for a smart organisation to make crime pay and to get away with it. “It seems to be a case of science applied to crime. The affairs are worked to a time table, and every little thing is thought of. Every possibility is arranged for.” “Yes, there’s no doubt somebody with a brain is running a gang, and running it well,” said Frame. “But I can’t see where Happy comes in. He might be in a gang. He’d try anything once. But why should they put him in the river? He wasn’t a squealer. He would take five years, rather than breathe a word. And he knew his job, too. There isn’t—or rather there wasn’t—a smarter safe man in the country than Happy Ford.” Assistant . Commissioner. - Geoffrey had not long held .his, exalted position, and he still remembered all he had known about London’s criminals—and he had known more than any man alive. “Happy was a safe maker, as well as a safe breaker,” he reminded Frame, “and he was also one of the most ingenious men I ever knew. I took him after his last affair, and his house wet's , nothing but a maze of mantraps and alarms, and. he had the neatest little' get-away arrangement that a man could wish for. Unfortunately for him we took him in the street, but he was so proud of his handiwork that he showed me all over his place afterwards, and explained how everything worked. He knew we. were bound to find out all about it when we searched the place, and he wanted to see us admir- his genius. “A strange fellow, Happy Ford. Pity he was crooked. Still, I must confess I liked him quite a lot. Now, let us try to see why he might have been murdered. I think we can safely leave suicide out of the question.” “A woman, a triangle,” Frame suggested, and laughed as he uid it. Geoffrey shook his head. “You know as well as I do that Happy never bothered about women. Besides, it wasn’t the right kind of murder for a crime of passion.: Cool, calculating, nasty. Tying a weight round a man’s neck and pushing him in the river isn’t a crime of

passion. Seems like a murder with a purpose- to me. Happy knew something he shouldn’t have known, and he paid for that knowledge with his life.” “Happy was loyal enough,” Frame objected.' “He wouldn’t squeal. He was the ‘straightest crook’ alive, and he was trusted, too.” Geoffrey paused before replying: “I think I can see a possible explanation.” he said, “and I’ll confess that it comes from a book that I have just finished reading. According to this story an eastern ruler chose six very trustworthy men to make a hiding place for certain important state treasures, and then murdered them all so that it was impossible for there to be any • leakage.” The Superintendent sat up sharply. “I wonder,” he said, with some excitement. “Happy was a safe maker, and he was also as ingenious as a monkey. I believe there is something in your idea, sir. In any case, it gives us something to work on, though goodness knows where we can start.” “I. think there is something in the idea,” the Assistant Commissioner said, at length. “We have got to throw overboard our ideas that there are no organised crime gangs, and we have got to break up this one that is running just as it plefises. “You .can consider yourself free from all routine duty from now on, Frame. Anything that bears the stamp of the gang’s work is your meat. I am afraid you have a long way to go, and very little material to work on, and I should not like ,to hazard a guess as to where the trail will lead you before.you wind up things with a hanging or two.” Frame was overjoyed at the thought of the great opportunity that was being given to him. .Scarcely thirty, his rise to his present position had been remarkably rapid, though even those over whose heads he had leapt admitted that his record of accomplishments was little short of amazing.

Still a bachelor, slightly under six feet tall and splendidly proportioned, with clear blue eyes which could just as easily strike fear into the heart of a wrongdoer as make a friend of a child, he was man of the type that every right-minded boy hopes to be.

Now, he realised, he was being given the great opportunity of his career. Should he succeed there was scarcely any height to which he might not rise. If he failed—well, he did not think of failure. And, of course, there was a girl. She lived in the same road as did Frame, and she worked, he had discovered, in the city offices of a company promoter, and her napie was Ann. Beyond that he knew nothing of her, although he would have told you—he often told himself —that her hair was the exact colour of ripe corn, and her eyes, appropriately enough, where the same delicate shade of cornflowers, that her lips—well, he would end, perhaps a little confusedly, that she was just adorable.

It will be noticed that police officers —even very. distinguished police officers —can be very unprofessional and inconsequent. Frame was almost oblivious to external things when he left the yard. Almost oblivious. Although he was fully occupied by his thoughts, some extra sense seemed to be warning him —telling him that things were not as they should be. Then as a man awaking from a light sleep, he took stock of his surroundings, and tried to account for the sense of danger that obsessed him.

Then he knew, and acted unhesitatingly. .... - • He turned a corner, and halted sharply. A wait of a few moments, then he was at his sauvest as he greeted the slouching, rat-like individual that hurried around the corner, . small, bright eyes darting along the sparsely-peopled street. “Well, if it isn’t my old friend, Willie,” Frame said ■ with well-feigned heartiness. Then, fiercely: “What the devil do you mean by shadowing me?” “Me? Shadowing? Mister Frame!” Willie lifted up his hands with horror, while his face registered pained astonishment that such a suggestion should be. made. . “Cut it.” Frame was impatient. He was puzzled, for Willie was a notorious informer—a seller of his own kidney. It was all wrong that he would be shadowing a policeman. “What’s the game?” he went on. “Come on, out with it, or I’ll take you inside.” Frame was amazed at the effect of his words. He was quite prepared to threaten Willie with many things more deadly than being taken “inside,” and he did not expect to get much information out of him, for Willie was an old hand.

Yet now the little man was obviously convulsed with terror. He trembled violently as if palsied, and his eyes seemed to start out of his head. (To be continued).