EBONY TORSO

Wairarapa Times-Age, 6 September 1939, Page 10

EBONY TORSO

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

(By

JOHN C. WOODIWISS.)

CHAPTER VIII (Continued).

The Detective waited anxiously for his arrival. He found him a very respectable fellow who had recently retired after a good many years’ service with the Oriental Navigation Company Limited, a well-known shipping firm who ran a service of cargo boats between Australia and the Far East to Tilbury. Mr Prosser at once struck him as an honest, sensible person with an unflinching eye and a hearty handshake. “Good morning, sir,” he said, as he was shown in. “You’re Detective Inspector Hopton, I understand?”

“Yes, Mr Prosser,” smiled Hopton. “It’s kind of you to come along here; please sit down by the fire and tell me all you know about this fellow and where you met him.”

“Well, I needn’t tell you his name’s Hannington, I suppose?” began the sailor with a smile, “because'!, expect ■you know that already.” “I didn’t,” Hopton assured him, writing it down. “But go on.”

“He travelled home with us on my last voyage from Australia, about ten months ago, in the old Pacific',” Prosser continued. “The Pacific was a big cargo steamer, with accommodation for about fifteen passengers, belonging to the Oriental company, and Mr Hannington came aboard with his wife at Melbourne.”

“And that was about . . ?” suggested the detective.

“Last April, sir,” amplified the sailor. “I’m not likely to forget 'em in a hurry, sir, because of the curious baggage they had travelling with ’em. Hopton’s nerves almost tingled with excitement as the man made this calm statement. “Queer baggage?” he repeated, without betraying a trace of emotion in his voice. “What did it consist of, eh, Mr Prosser?” The sailor gave a chuckle and leant forward confidently. “The queerest thing I ever knew stowed away in a private cabin in my life, sir,” he commented in an amused tone. “Nothing more or less than a blinkin’ gorilla!” CHAPTER IX. A gorilla! At last the darkness of this apparentlyin explicable mystery was beginning to be pierced by the light of concrete facts, and Hopton' rubbed his hands with satisfaction as he settled down to extract further information. “That certainly was an unusual cargo, Mr Prosser,” he smiled. “Was the animal loose?” “No, inspector,” replied the man. “Hanning used to keep it in a big wooden case in his cabin. He only exercised it at night when everyone had turned in except the night watch. He told us it wasn’t dangerous, and that it was remarkably intelligent, provided it didn’t get excited by a lot of strangers.” “And you never actually saw it?” . “No, sir,” said Prosser. “He said it might get upset and out of control aboard ship. I suppose the thing wasn't used to the motion of the boat and the noise of the engines and so forth; so he wouldn't let strangers disturb it or even see it.” “I follow,” nodded the detective. “What was this couple’s idea in dragging the creature round?” “Mr Hannington told me they were in the variety business —sort of performing animal act, I suppose.” “I see. And you put ’em ashore at Tilbury?”

“I was just coming to that sir. You know that any animal landed at a British port has to go into quarantine, don’t you?” “Yes,” agreed the inspector. "Well, when we went to carry the denied thing ashore, blow me if it hadn’t somehow managed to get loose and escape. Gosh! —I shall never forget how Hannington and his missus carried on; they nearly tore their hair out, sir; went for the skipper bald-headed, they did; the police were sent for, and there was no end of a palaver. I’ll never forget how the old skipper cussed and swore it’d be the last time he’d ever ship freight of that sort. Everyone spent the entire day hunting the docks for the blessed thing, but no one ever saw it again; it had just vanished.” “Um!” smiled Hopton. "That was unfortunate.” "Too true, it was, especially for the Company,” nodded the sailor ruefully. "Mr Hannington put in a big claim for damages.” “And the beast was never recaptured?” “No, sir, my opinion is, it fell overboard and got drowned,” remarked Prosser. "There’s a pretty fast tide, you know, sir.” "Bad luck on the Company,” mused the detective. "Oh, I think they'd have fought it out in Court if Hannington had pressed the claim," replied the sailor. "But it all fizzled out in the end.” "Did he withdraw his claim, then?” “Yes, sir, I understand he wrote saying that on thinking the matter over calmly he’d come to the conclusion he hadn’t taken proper precautions with the animal’s cage, and accepted all liability; so the matter was just dropped.” “I think he acted wisely there!” said Hopton with a grim smile. “Anything else you can tell me that might prove interesting, Mr Prosser?” “Only that they never picked up the thing’s body, which struck us all as rather unusual.” “Quite so: and what sort of food did they give it?” “Oh, a lot of fruit and tinned stuff,” replied the other. “I believe them big I apes eat rabbit food, generally speak- ■ ing.” j “Yes, I believe they do,” agreed the I detective. “But I don’t know much/ about wild animals.” . 1 "Anything more you want to ask? sir?” enquired Prosser, after a pause.

during which Flopton sat pondering over the information he had been

given. “There’s just one more point I'd like you to help me with if you can; do you remember Mrs Hannington sufficiently well to give me a rough description of her?” “Certainly,” returned Prosser. “I remember her well. She wasn’t exact--1 ly an ordinary lobking woman. She was about my height—that’s pretty ' tall for a woman, very dark hair, plaited round over the ears, and a big mole on the neck.” While the sailor was speaking Hopton had been comparing his remarks with the particulars which he had got from Mrs Abershaw’s landlady in Kensington, and was not surprised to find that the two descriptions tallied in a remarkable way. “She had dark grey eyes, hadn't she?” he enquired reading from his notes. “Quite correct, sir,” nodded the other. “And a big nose that was rather hooky.” “Thank you, anything else?” “She seemed to have a slight limp with the —now let me see —which leg was it? —with the left leg. She also had a line of hair on the upper lip like a moustache, sir, and she’d be about forty. , The final peculiarities settled the matter, and Hopton put away his book with a sigh of relief. The two descriptions tallied beyond all fear of mistake! “Anything else you can think of, Mr Prosser?” he asked. “Not unless there’s anything you want to ask, sir,” replied the man. “No,, that’s about all, I think,” smiled the detective, rising and shaking hands with his visitor. “I’m very grateful for your valuable information.” “Don’t mention it, sir,” answered the sailor cordially. “I’m very fond of reading crime stories, you know, and it’s a real experience to meet a genuine ’tec, and get a peep inside Scotland Yard. It'll be something to tell the kids and the missus about.” Once rid of the obliging Mr Prosser, Hopton rang up Inspector Carlingford, who seemed mildly amused at his report. “Of course I tumbled to the fact that it was a big ape, days ago,” he replied with bumptious complacency. “In fact, . I’ve had inquiries made at all the wild animal dealers in London to find out if a creature or unusual size had passed through their hands in the last year or so.” “Well, you needn’t waste any more time on that scent,” retorted Hopton acidy. “And in any case, you must remember that it would take years to train an animal to act independently, as this creature does.” “Of course it would,” agreed Carlingford as if the idea was an old one to him. Hopton was so exasperated by his colleague’s patronising tone that he snapped out a curt “good-bye” . and jammed on the receiver again with a venomous bang. “Confound the idiot!” he muttered. “I’m hanged if I’ll try to keep in touch with him in future.” He was just going out when the ’phone bell rang again. He answered it and found it to be a message from Morrell ordering him to go to the Chief Commissioner's room at once. He found Sir Hallard Costigan sitting al his desk, monocle in eye, poring over a great bundle of official documents. “Hello, inspector,” said the commissioner, motioning his visitor to a chair. “Anything turned up in the Torso inquiry?” “We’re steadily progressing, sir, and I’m hoping to make an arrest shortly.” replied Hopton . sitting down with a sigh. “I’ve got a warrant out for Galesbourne and the woman for attempted murder.” “Darned sporting attempt, too,” commented the Chief facetiously. “You had the devil’s own luck to escape from Mr Ikey Frost’s place with your life.” “There’s no doubt about that,” agreed the detective. “I see you're going over the reports, sir.” “Um,” nodded Sir Hallard. “But I've just heard something rather interesting in connection with that carving thing —the Torso, you know.” “Really, sir?” “Yes, I took it along to a friend of mine at the British Museum; he’s the head of the African section.” “Oh, yes, sir?” “Well, he happened to be out when I called, so I left the thing with his chief of staff. I’ve just had a report on it, Inspector, and he tells me quite emphatically that it isn’t of African origin at all.” “Really, sir?” replied Hopton, wondering where all this was leading. “No. they’re quite definite on that point, and assure me it’s a fairly skilful copy, probably made in this country.” “That's interesting, sir.” “Just shows what a lot of precious bunk these people talk about curses ' and that sort of thing, doesn’t it?” the ; Commissioner went on, screwing the i glass more firmly into his eye, and taking up his pencil. “I always thought that from the first, , sir,” remarked the Inspector. “There’s ] little doubt that Galesbourne and his | wife ...” < “His wife?” | Sir Hallard Costigan looked up smartly as he interrupted Hopton. and began to tap the edge of the table with t his pencil, a nervous habit of his when I thinking, “His wife, Inspector?” he repeated. ; “I thought the gentleman was a celi- < bate.” The detective told him of his conversation with Prosser.

(To be continued. 1