EBONY TORSO

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 September 1939, Page 10

EBONY TORSO

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT,

(By

JOHN C. WOODIWISS.)

CHAPTER VIII (Continued).

“Well, the Devil got his own in the end,” commented the Inspector, lighting his pipe, for the air was incredibly foul in the cellar. “Let’s have a look in the place across the passage and see if we find anything fresh.” They were obliged to break a large padlock before they were able to investigate the cellar, and as soon as they began work on this impediment, a pandemonium of shrill cries came from the other side of the door.

“Sounds as if he'd got animals in here,” remarked the Sergeant, forcing back the shank of the lock with a piece of iron he had picked up; the door swung open, and the two men peered into the dismal hole beyond. The Sergeant struck a match and its l flickering light revealed lines of wire cages arranged round the walls in tiers; each cage containing an animal, whose shining eyes glowed in the invading light. The infernal din the creatures made showed they were in the last extremity of hunger, and paws, and eager noses, appeared between the bars on all sides. “You’ll notice Mr Frost took no chances, Sergeant,” cried the Detective to his subordinate. “These poor beasts are so desperate from hunger they’d eat anything. The cunning devil!”

‘Gosh,” replied the officer with a shudder, as he gazed at the ravenous menagerie. “If ever there was a case for capital punishment this is it, sir! Hanging's too good for such a foul brute! He ought to be burnt alive!” “You’d better get in touch with the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals’ people at once,” advised Hopton, leading the way but of the vile-smelling place, and waiting while his assistant closed the door.

“I will, straight away, sir,” agreed the other. “Poor little brutes! They must be got out of this place as soon as possible.” “Well, we’ve broken up this den once and for all,” commented the detective, “and it won’t be long before we run the devils out.”

“It certainly seems like it,” agreed the sergeant. “We’ve got descriptions of '’em, and as the vicarage and this shop can’t be used as hiding places, they’re bound to be spotted and arrested pretty soon.” “You can bet they won’t come back here. The crowd outside will give ’em a warning that the murder hasn’t come off according to plan,” the inspector assured him. “Of course, it’s possible they may try to clear out of the country.”

“We shall get ’em if they do,” replied the sergeant, confidently. “Well, here’s hoping, anyway,” said his superior, as he led the way upstairs

Galesbourne had evidently been hiding in the house for some days, for his clothes and underwear were discovered in a cupboard, and Hopton, who was not certain the padre was at the root of the whole mystery,'decided to make some further inquiries concerning his mental state from Doctor Gravely. He found the doctor a distinctly antagonistic and difficult person to interview, and was forced to proceed tactfully in order to avoid offending his sense of professional etiquette. Dr Gravely, a tall, thin man, with a white moustache and a short, pointed beard, sat behind his large, fumed oak desk staring at his visitor in an aggressive manner.

“Now doctor,” began the detective, in a businesslike tone. “You know I’m a police officer, and that I’m investigating these mysterious crimes which have taken place in this district." The medical man nodded slowly. “I know your name, inspector,” he replied, “and shall be quite prepared to answer any question you want to ask, subject, of course, to the usual professional rules.”

“You have attended the Vicar of St Luke’s medically, I understand?” “Yes, inspector. Mr Galesbourne was my patient for a great many years. He was also a personal friend of mine, and I acted as his warden for five years.” “He suffered from a nervous breakdown recently, I believe,”

“That is so,” nodded the other. "Rather a serious breakdown, due to overwork.” “You, of course attended him at that time?”

“Yes, he was taken, ill late in June, and I’ve seen him a good many times since.”

“Did you notice any chance in him following the breakdown, doctor?” “Naturally,” replied Gravely sharply. “The man was ill. or I shouldn’t have been attending him. It’s a pity the police didn't appreciate that fact and so have averted a tragedy.” The reply was biting, but Hopton kept his temper and went on patiently. “I quite understand your feelings; but I should like to know in what way Mr Galesbourne was different?”

“In exactly the way I should have expected,” replied the Doctor irascibly: “absent-minded, and with a partial loss of memory . . especially in connection with his work, and for faces."

“I see,” nodded Hopton, taking a note of the answer. ‘ Now, would you be kind enough to tell me if there were any symptoms of incipient lunacy or indication of abnormality of any kind?”

“Good Heavens, no, Inspector!” snapped the other. “Whatever put such a fantastic notion into your mind? I never heart of such a thing.” ' “Then, speaking generally, the Vicar was a healthy man, doctor?” continued Hopton, without answering the question.

“Certainly, my dear sir,” Gravely assured him. “He was a most abstemious and orderly person in his habits, and, therefore, generally healthy. Overwork and worry were his downfall."

"You’ve not treated him professionally on many occasions, then, Doctor?” enquired the detective. “Very seldom, before this breakdown,” agreed the medical man. “But I can tell you exactly if I look up my book,” and he took a large ledger from a drawer in the desk and turned up the required entry. “Yes, here we are.”

Hopton waited patiently while the doctor ran his finger down the line of notes.

“I find I’ve attended him very little during the past eight years,” he went on at last, looking up from the book. “Twice for influenza, once for an attack of shingles .. an obvious forerunner to the breakdown . . . this recent loss of memory we’ve already discussed,' and finally, I was called in to attend him when he’d been bitten by his dog . . .” “Excuse me, sir,” Hopton broke in sharply. “Was that after his breakdown?” "Yes,” nodded the doctor. “It was shortly after I let him get out of bed. His terrier ‘Spot’ turned on him and bit him rather badly through the fleshy part of his hand.” “Was the dog a particular pet?” asked the detective. “Oh dear, yes, smiled Gravely, reminiscently. “It was devoted to the Vicar, but it somehow became a little difficult after his illness and occasionally turned on him, till he was forced to have it destroyed.”

“That was rather odd, wasn’t it?” enquired Hopton. “The change in temper, I mean.” “I suppose it was,” said Gravely drily. “But then, my dear Inspector, human beings haven’t the monopoly of queer fads and fancies, as you’ve probably realised.” “Quite so, doctor,” the Detective agreed. “Now, as regards the Vicar’s work; did this breakdown affect his services in anyway?”

“Naturally,” the other replied. “Of course, he was quite unable to take the services; indeed, he was thinking of sending in his resignation on that account at the time of his death, poor chap. His memory was very badly affected, and then the final worry of Scutt’s death broke him completely. The police were most inconsiderate in the matter, in my humble opinion.” “No, doctor, I can’t agree,” Hopton assured him. “As a matter of fact, I’m in a position to prove that Father Galesbourne is. not dead at all.”

“Then you suggest his suicide was all a sham? Is that your idea?” enquired Doctor Gravely incredulously. “What reason do you imagine a man of Galesbourne's remarkable integrity could possibly' have for staging such a vulgar hoax?” “For the moment, I prefer to leave that explanation to his medical adviser,” replied the Detective acidly. “But as a matter of fact, Doctor, I’m afraid Father Galesbourne’s case is more likely to end in the province of the criminologist.” “I should be glad to know how you are so certain of this. As the man’s doctor some explanation in support of such a statement is surely due to me, Inspector.”

“You’ll get the explanation in due course, sir,” retorted Hopton. “Good morning!” and nodding pleasantly, he left the room.

Irritating as the interview had been, it had gone lar to strengthen some important points in the line of reasoning slowly developing in the detective’s brain. He returned to Scotland Yard, took - a piece of paper, wrote down the most important facts with great care and pondered over them for some time. At last he took up the telephone in front of him and asked for the records department. In a few moments he heard Sergeant Phillips answering him.

“Oh, Sergeant,” said Hopton, “I want you to get a photograph of Father Galesbourne . . . you know who I mean 1 ?”

“Yes. sir,” answered the other. “Then got one of your chaps to touch out the clerical collar and cassock and fake the head on to an ordinary lounge suit with a white linen collar and tie.” “Very good, sir, and then?” “Send it to the newspaper offices with the following message:

“The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police would be glad to interview the subject of the above photograph, or any person who may have accompanied or met him on- a sea voyage within the last twelve months. Would any such person kindly communicate with the nearest police station or communicate direct with Scotland Yard: Telephone, Whitehall 1212.”

"I’ll get it done at once, sir,” replied Phillips. "Would you like to see the photo before it goes out?”

“Yes, please, but I want it to appear in the morning editions tomorrow.” “That’s all right, sir, good-bye.” “Good-bye,' repeated Hop ton, putting up the receiver. The request for information brought astonishingly quick results, for by eleven the next day, Hopton received a ’phone call from Poplar, informing him that a man called Prosser had recognised the photograph and was being sent along to the “Yard,” in a police car.

(To be continued.)