“The Phantom Killer”

Taranaki Daily News, 30 November 1934, Page 13

“The Phantom Killer”

or “Ann’s Adventure In Crime”

By

COLIN HOPE.

CHAPTER 3 (Continued). Frame immediately circulated a description of the car, and while awaiting news from that source, decided to see if he could learn anything from the dead man. The local police had already searched his clothing and found nothing. Photographs had been taken, although, so badly was he disfigured there seemed little hope that they would lead to identification. Neither were they necessary for Frame recognised the man immediately the covering sheet was pulled back. “That will do,” he said, and there was exaltation in his voice. “That is Larry Broquil, although I thought he was still inside. The scent seems hot enough this time. Unless she has altered, Mrs. Broquil will talk quite a lot. Larry would not have been so easy to convict before if she had kept quiet. Let’s hope when she does talk she tells us something worth while.” A SLENDER CLUE. A telephone inquiry soon established the fact that Larry still lived at his old address, that is to say, at the. house which his wife kept habitable during the many absences of her lord and master, and the detective decided to see that lady without delay. For a moment he hesitated. Perhaps it would be better if he visited the hospital first. He dismissed the doubt. The girl, he decided, was m good hands and could wait. He was, however, doomed to disappointment. Mrs. Broquil certainly told him a lot. She explained at great length her opinion of inquisitive policemen who would not let a man get an honest living. and also told Frame exactly what she thought of him, of ancestors and of his possible descendents. . Frame let her have hef head. He knew the woman, and he knew he was more likely to learn from her by letting her go her own way. She was quite likely to imitate the oyster if he attempted to force her. The news of her husband’s death seemed to effect her very little. He had been more or less a bird of passage throughout their married life.. It. was a married life, for some of the worst crooks are distinctly moral. She had provided most of the money to keep the home together and food on the table. Larry’s occasional successes had usually resulted in a glorious few days of hectic affluence, and, in Larry’s case, alcoholism, followed by a very long period of frugality, and, again in Larry’s case, forcible detention. The steaming copper, and big baskets of other people’s washing scrupulously cleansed by Mrs. Broquil, were the means by which that lady lived. . On the whole, Mrs. Broquil was the gainer by her loss. The earnings that were barely enough to keep the two of them from wan/ would be sufficient for comfortable affluence for one. At length the detective managed to get a little real information .from her. It was, however, disappointingly meagre, and helped him but little. Mrs. Broquil declared that her husband knew nothing of the robbery or of the gang. He had been employed to do a job, and that was the beginning and end of it. , It appeared that Larry had been called to the telephone that -was located in the Hound and Hare opposite, and an unknown voice had asked him if he would drive a car to a certain spot, and then bring it back. He had asked what it was all about, and had been told to mind his own business. He would be well paid for the job, but he was neither to ask questions or to answer them. Twenty pounds for an afternoon’s work had seemed good enough to Larry, and he had accepted the offer. Apparently he did not consider that the pledge of secrecy included his wife, because he told her that he was to take a car out from a nearby garage and, after picking up a passenger at the Sept building, was to drive to a spot near Staines. There he would meet another car, and receive a bag, and he was to drive back to the Sept building. Frame spent another half-an-hour at the house, but he got no further. It was otjyious that whoever had planned the affair had taken care to leave no loophole for a squeal. Even Larry’s minor indiscretion in repeating his orders to his wife had done little harm to connect Sept with the affair, and Frame had little doubt that he would find that another dead end. The garage proprietor was no more helpful. Frame did not expect that he would be. He, too, had received a telephone cal.. The voice had told him that a man would call to hire his latest sports car —the one with the big mascot. He was to take off the mascot, and hand it to the man who called for the car. Naturally he had asked for a substantial deposit, and this had been promised without demur. The money had arrived by post in the morning, and the car had been called for about mid-day. “Didn’t the whole thing strike you as strange?” “To tell the truth it did. I talked It over with the missus last night, and we decided it was risky, and I shouldn t have let the car go without money in advance. And, of course, times are bad, and the chance of earning a bit isn’t to be sneezed at, so when the money turned up I let the car go.” The man was obviously honest enough. Criminals are not the only queer people, and there was no reason why he should

guess that his car was to be used to further a crime.

Frame questioned him closely without much result. He secured a list of the customers who had hired cars from the garage, and also those who used the place for any purpose whatever. There were fifty-odd names on the list. More patient inquiry work, for Davidson or some other subordinate. Each one was to be located, bona fides examined and, in certain cases, histories to be traced. Probably it represented a month’s work, but it might reveal an important clue, and Frame knew he could not afford to miss the slightest chance.

The name of Octavius Sept did not appear on the list. Frame did not expect that it would. A criminal so clever at covering his tracks—assuming that Sept was involved—was not likely to make an elementary error. There was a chance that he might have used the garage under another name, and the detective continued to ply his questions, but without success. It seemed certaig that Sept had never been to the garage in person. He was not satisfied, however, and he determined to secure a photograph of the financier, and to try again. Frame’s next step seemed to be obvious—a visit to the Sept building. He hesitated, for he was certain that this lead was a little too obvious to be genuine, and he decided to defer the visit until he was a little more sure of his ground. He knew very little about the financier except that he was reputed to be what the Americans call “a paper magnate” of very little stability and doubtful integrity. MARTIN PAUL LENDS A HAND. He knew he could learn more at the Yard, and he had a friend who possessed a good deal of inside knowledge of the financial world. He was not long tn making up his mind. He used the garage telephone, got through to headquarters and was fortunate enough to catch the assistant commissioner in. “Sept will certainly have to be investigated,” Geoffrey said when he had listened to an outline of Frame s story. “I’ll get a couple of good men on to it at once, and have as much as possible ready for you in a couple of hours’ time. In the meantime, I’ll send Mayers along to keep an eye on the place, and if anything turns up I’ll ring you.” Frame gave his friend’s telephone number for use in emergency, and made his way towards Kensington. Once again luck favoured him. His friend was leaving the house as the detective turned in the front gate.

“Hullo Frame,” he hailed, “have you come in answer to my prayer?” The detective laughed shortly. “I have come praying that you can help me.”

Martin Paul re-opened the door. "Come in. So long as you have come to talk I’m satisfied. I was just going out in the hope of finding a little mild excitement; thought I might barge into a smash-and-grab raid, or do the dirty on an escaping hold-up merchant. You know, Frame, the greatest desire of my life is to see a villian coming cut from a bank hold-up, into my waiting arms. “Of course, there will be the usual struggle to the death, and I shall be literally full of bullets, but I shall hang on grimly until six burly policemen relieve me, then I shall sink back on to the pavement while the admiring crowds cheer themselves hoarse.

“I’d give a lot to get my hand on a certain bandit,” Frame replied, with feeling. “The trouble is he isn’t by any means a definite quantity. Thats why I want your help.” “Octavius Sept.” Paul mused, when the friends were’ seated in front of a comfortable fire, with the usual adjuncts within easy reach. “I certainly can’t tell you a lot about him. It is doubtful if anybody can. He is a bit of a mystery, certainly, but not a very dangerous mystery. “Really he doesn’t do a great deal ot business. Heaven knows why he runs to such tremendous offices, unless it is for appearance sake. There may be a lot in that, quite a number of his ventures wouldn’t stand without the ‘quality background’.” “He has a large staff hasn’t he?” “So-so. Not too many for an ordinary office suite. He doesn’t handle anything really Jrig. kjpst of his business is outside broking. He buys up blocks of shares that happen to be going cheap, gets out a good sales letter, and sells the shares in little parcels to unsuspecting old maids, and the greedy folk who think 5 per cent, interest is ridiculously low. Quite within the law, I suppose, but none too savoury.” “Is he rich?” “He shouldn’t be very rich. There is a nice competence in that game—he isn’t the only one who does it—but it seldom brings in really big money. Yet he is supposed to be a millionaire. If he is,” Paul spoke deliberately, “he has made money in other ways.” “Of course, the real mystery about friend Octavius is: Who is behind him? The man himself is mud. He hasn t the intelligence of a child of fifteen, and as a business man he simply isn’t You can take it from me that there is somebody bigger than Sept behind that concern. Perhaps somebody bigger than any of us imagine. “Now it’s your turn. Tell uncle all about it. I’m all ears, and I want something really exciting. Go!” (To be continued).