RED FOR DANGER

Taranaki Daily News, 29 December 1934, Page 19 (Supplement)

RED FOR DANGER

By

LINDSAY HAMILTON

(Author of “The Gorgon,” “The Black Asp,” etc.) /

CHAPTER 5 (continued). There could be no mistaking the gleam 'of. relief and satisfaction in the sick man’s eyes. Timothy went to the ’phone and gave the message, adding on his own account that Joe Wilkins was in room 15 and seemed to be in a pretty bad way. He would have stayed then, but it soon became apparent that Joe Wilkins wanted him to go. Timothy again suggested a doctor, but there was no responsive look in the eyes. He offered to stay till friends should arrive. The flash of antagonism he got then decided him. He supposed Wilkins knew his own business best. But it was strange behaviour from a man who looked nearer death than recovery. Timothy went out quietly and closed the door behind him. Jill when he told her, thought it strange, too, but she was eager to hear fuller details of his encounter with sinister-face. "I saw him getting into the lift,” Timothy explained. “He •• was welldressed, quite distinguished looking, in fact. But a face like that takes ■ some disguising.” “You're positive it was he?” “Absolutely.” Jill collected the scattered sheets of her article. “It looks like being ‘continued in our next,’ ” she observed gleefully. “I’d better add another sentence. How will this do? ‘At the moment this goes to press I have made an alarming discovery. The sinister leader is within these walls. How will he strike?’ ” Timothy chuckled at the deliberate sensationalism. “Strike me pink,” he observed facetiously. A “By the way, it’s rather curious, isn’t it?” said Jill presently. “This man Wilkins was the young man who came in after us this' morning, you say. Well, the old greybeard who followed a minute later is next door, in room. 16, and we are next to him.” "I knew there was something else- 2 meant to tell you,” exclaimed Timothy. “Nothing important, but I want you to take note of my incredible, powers ot observation. I never had any'- before. That's what makes it so incredible now. To-day I’ve been keeping my eyes open, and I’ve seen two- very remarkable ■ incidents.” “Has the Thames dried up?” asked Jill with a laugh. “Or did Bi’g Ben strike thirteen?” “No, your old greybeard was leaving, luggage and everything, as I came in about half-an-hour ago.” ■ “Extraordinary!” she exclaimed to pretended amazement. ■ “It was his mode of travel that seemea to me extraordinary. He was lying full length across the seat. Another thing, the hotel porter was on the wrong side of the taxi as it drove up past me,” “The wrong side? Has a taxi a wrong side?” “Well, a porter always opens a car door on the pavement side, doesn’t he? This one was out in the road,”. < . “Probably seeing to the luggage” ; • “I never thought of that,” Timothy admitted; and his eyes twinkled, “and for all we know old greybeard’s favourite mode of travel may be on his tummy.” Jill turned to her typewriter again and added a' final sentence. Timothy was more than a little anxious to know what she had written. “Are you giving place, time, and accurate details?” he asked. She eyed him pityingly. “Has the Planet ever struck you as a particularly indiscreet paper?” She handed him the type written sheets. “Read it if you you like.” At the moment Timothy began to read, Inspector Burgesai, followed by Clive Grimshaw, was turning into the corridor —the two plainclothes men he had . referred to as Harry and Will were below in the hall, awaiting developments, The door of room 15 stood a little ajar. Burgess pushed it open, and for a moment halted in uncertainty. Looking over his shoulder, Clive Grimshaw saw the interior, the bed, the figure in it half raised on one elbow. His hand and arm were, outstretched as though in urgent warning, nd a look of awful horror convulsed his pallid features.

Burgess took one step into the room , . . there was a sharp report, followed an Instant later by a second. Burgess swayed and toppled forward into the room. Grimshaw dropped flax and was worming his way forward to peer into the room from an unexpected level, when someone came hurtling aIpng the corridor and descended on his back with such force that all the wind was driven from his body in one painful gush. . “Lie still,” a pleasant, voice advised him, “or I shall have tp brain you.” At that time of the day most of the rooms on the first floor were unoccupied Nevertheless, a porter appeared as though by magic, and assigned himself the carp of Grimshaw’s legs. There had been a few seconds .of silence below aS though the hotel, like some living creature, held its breath in startled amazement. And then clamour broke loose. The bolder spirits ran. up the stairs in th© wake of the two . plainclothes detectives. One of them, with a few forceful expletives, secured the release of Grimshaw, who struggled up, still gasping painfully, and eved with pardonable animosity the red-neaded giant who had used him so roughly. “I don’t know who you are, he said curtly, “but you’re a blundering idiot.” “Thanks,” was the affable reply, “my name is Gale. Sorry if I hurt you. There was some excuse for the mistake.” The second detective, with complete

disregard for his own safety, leapt into the room over Burgess’s prostrate form. There was no need to look twice at that ghastly head lolling at an unnatural angle across a pillow bespattered with blood to grasp the meaning of those two reports. Joe Wilkins was dead— Burgess had taken the other bullet. Yet where was the murderer? Ah! there was another door beyond the bed. The detective opened it and found himself in another bedroom. It was deserted. The door- leading from it into the corridor was ajar. It bore the number sixteen. A few minutes’ search of both rooms made it plain that the murderer, whoever he was, had escaped. The two detectives and Grimshaw conferred in low voices and while one ’phoned for Inspector Wallace, the other drew Timothy into the room of death and plied him with questions in a deferential tone that Timothy might have found flattering if he had not realised he was being held on suspicion. CHAPTER 6. THE VANISHING TRICK. In a very short space of time Inspectoi Wallace was on the spot, and he brought with him a doctor. The latter bent over the still form in the doorway, turned it over, and shook his head slowly. Wallace’s lips twitched and he swore a silent bitter oath. Burgess had been a colleague, a friend, less than an hour .ago he had been very much a live man. To be snuffed out like this—shot like a dog! Something fiercer than zeal for duty stirred in Wallace’s breast. From Grimshaw he learnt in a few words how the thing had happened. Timothy came forward.i “It tyas I who ’phoned the message to Scotland Yard,” he said, and related briefly the events which had led to this action. Inspector. Wallace questioned him keenly, displaying an uncanny gift for probing wnere questions were least welcome. Who was the lady in his sitting-room? Had. he known, her long? At a point where he might have been expected to display even keener interest, namely, upon learning that Timothy and Jill had sought shelter in the hotel for no specified reason at the hour of 2 a.m. ;that morning, his manner altered abruptly, and his fire of questions ceased. Timothy detected a look of friendly curiosity in his keen gaze, and it puzzled him to account for it. “You can go,” said the Inspector. “But •I shall want you later. Did you leave the door open when you went out after ’phoning?” Timothy distinctly remembered having closed it, and- said so. Grimshaw seized on the point. “It was. -ajar when. Inspector Burgess and I arrived.” “You were expected,? said Wallace grimly, and began his examination ot the room. . ■ . Timothy, had every intention of remaining until-he was put out, but no one took the slightest notice of him. He followed the Inspector’s movements with interest. He was trying to work out the exact position from which the two shots had been fired. It was not difficult, for there .were only two positions in the room from which both the head of the bed and the approach from the door were simultaneously in range, and one of these positions was in the doorway between the two rooms. Wallace next picked up the bottle of medicine and the empty glass, sniffed both, and handed them to one of his subordinates. He removed also the key from the locx of the communicating door after testing the lock mechanism and finding that it worked with unusual smoothness. Then he stepped into room 16. “Did you find out who .was the last to occupy this, room?” he demanded. One of. his men apparently had made that inquiry, and was able to give the desired information. “A party of the name of Colonel Everard. But he left half-an-hour before we got here.” ‘•I saw him go,” put in Timothy. Wallace growled- something under his breath. He had come to a very definite conclusion, and he would have regarded the most convincing alibi in the world as an obstacle to be smashed through, somehow. The only discovery of interest in room 16 was a heap of paper-ash in the grate. Wallace had his own ideas on the significance of that. He touched nothing, but gave instructions for a finger-prim expert and a photographer to be summoned. Both rooms were locked up then, and one of the detectives Remained on guard to admit the specialists when they arrived. ■ Inspector Wallace then began the lengthy business of taking statements in Timothy’s sitting-room, Jill on the strength of her connection with the Press was allowed to remain. Timothy realised that he owed his own admittance to the full proceedings because he could throw more light on events preceding the murder than anyone else. But he was curious to know why an inspector of police, who apparently knew less about him than Adam, should accept his evidence without a question. The 'manager of the hotel, a Mr. Salamans, was first called. He was a rotund, imperturable little man. Not even a double murder on the premises could apparently ruffle his suave serenity, not disturb his air of remote. detachment from common mundane affairs. He was engagingly frank in manner, but his answers to the questions Inspector Wallace shot at him were singularly lacking in information. (To be continued).