SERIAL STORY “VIPER’S VENGEANCE”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 79, Issue 108, 8 May 1936, Page 5

SERIAL STORY “VIPER’S VENGEANCE”

by

RALPH TREVOR

CHAPTER XI. Department “ Z ” »« Puzzled. The door of Superintendent Ad- ' ro-ck's room had closed and, for the moment, he found himself alone, star- | ing down at a freshly scribbled report. on the blotter in front for him. ; That report contained a precis ol ' what Sergeant Bud Deering, of the | Canadian Police, had told him about | the mysterious excursion of Mr Bonnie i Bayford earlier in the evening. Adcock had found Deering in many respects a remarkable fellow, and as the man hal talked, the Superintendent had discovered himself admitting that it. was. perhaps, somewhat, fortunate that. Deering had been at 11 The, i Sign of the Twin Moons ” last night and that, in a way. he had taken charge of lhe situation almost immediately after the shooting. Of course, the Canadian's methods made little appeal Io Adcock. They savoured of a certain crudeness. He was, Adcock thought, somewhat inclined to jump to conclusions that were scarcely justified from the facts. In the. first place, merely because the young man Bayford had attempted Io conceal the tell-tale card bearing the autograph of The Viper that had been found on the body of the murdered man, did not justify Deering's assumption that Bayford knew more about the crime than j he had admitted. At that moment Sergeant Peter Mathers broke in on the Superintendent's thoughts. “ Well,'’ questioned Adcock, "and what. do you know about that?” “ I think he’s rather a good sori.” confessed Mathers. “Of course, like many another policeman schooled in American methods, he uses three words where one would suffice, but that doesn't mean that there's dry rot under his hat. You know. sir. as I look him down, 1 had great difficulty in persuading him not Io go along and grill young Bayford. He. was all for il. He I thinks we're slow; that we don't know how to go about, his work. I explained that third degree stuff wasn't popular over on this side of the’Atlantic, and If I’d told him that Nelson talks to the pigeons at the Lop of his column tie , couldn’t have looked more amazed.” Adcock grunted. “ Talking of grilling, or roasting,” he said, ‘‘reminds me that I'm hungry. How about, a nice juicy point steak, Mathers, with lashings of fried onions and a pint of beer? You know the trades unions knew what they were about when they insisted on regular meal times for their members, yet we're expected Io snatch whatever we can whenever we can get it. It’s not right, Mathers, my boy. The police are being imposed upon. We’re the butt of the community, and it's all because we don't get what, we want to cal when we feel like eating it.” When you talk that way,” confessed Mathers, ‘‘you make. me hungry, 100. By the way. I see by the newspapers to-night that young Strode is being capped flgain for the match against Wales a week next Saturday at Twickenham. Why don't, you take the afternoon off and go down and see him? He's quite the best wing half England has had for some years.” Adcock grunted again. “ That's another thing, ’’ he complained. “We gel, precious few days off on Ibis job. Twenty-four hours a day; seven dajs a week, and we're expected to perform miracles. I've, a good mind Io lake your advice. Mainers. It may give me a new outlook on life. But we were talking about Deering, weren't we? I wonder what was Hie object of Bayford's trip down »o Marchampstead Io meet that girl? You know. Mathers, lhe more I think about it the more I ni convinced that Bayford hasn't, ‘come clean’ as our Canadian friend so charmingly put it. And this was lhe girt who was in the company of that elusive customer Barna Singh.” Adcock shrugged his bro.id shoulders and rose from his chair, stretching himself inelegantly. “ If our hands weren't tied.” protested Mathers, "we might have a chance.” ‘•That's just il.” agreed Adcock. “ If we were only allowed Io follow our normal procedure we might have a chance of getting somewhere. As it it, with that inartistic letter Z’ forming a background, we’r; back at the A.B.G. stage.” “ Why won’t I bey let us work normally?” asked Mathers. Adcock looked at his Sergeant pityingly. ’’ My dear boy, I should have thought you appreciated the elementary fact that, when lhe Secret Service Department presses the soft pedal it means that, we lose our normal tempo as well. We re just so many crockets waiting Io be played, and we can’t please ourselves.’’ At. just, that moment lhe buzzer on lhe sergeant's desk disturbed them. Adcock picked up Hie house telephone. “ Z’ calling Superintendent Adcock. Hold lhe line, please.” A moment later came Sir Gilbert. Granlham's pleasantly modulated voice. "Ah, Adcock, I’ve had a rather curious radio from our people, in India. I can't understand il. But before I tell you about it I was under lhe impression that you told me in your last report, tint Rama Singh was in London.” “That's right, sir. My man saw him only to-night. We can't say where he is al, the present moment because, as a mailer of fact, he’s given us the slip.” “What would you say if 1 told you that Singh has been reported in India —a village near lhe North-West frontier, at. ten o'clock. Greenwich M.T. to-night?” j Adcock glanced interrogatively • across at Sergeant Mathers. “Short of having been fired through I space in a rocket, I should say that ! someone's been having something pleasantly ind expensively over-proof with his tiffin,” exclaimed Adcock, and he heard the man at the other end of the wire chuckle. “Listen, Superintendent. My message says: ‘Rama Singh paid an unexpected visit to the Temple of Vishnu at Prudjongh and remained for some little time. There was great enthusiasm. We understood that he was still in London. Gan you inform us I Urgent.' w

j What Adcock would have liked to ; have said might have destroyed the j wire. What he did say was: “There 1 must be some mistake, sir. It would be impossible. The man is certainly in nr around London.” | “Yes. 1 suppose so.” came Sir Gilbert’s musing voice. “All lhe same — i I wonder. I'll come round to see you. . . Adcock laid lhe receiver in its | sland with unaccustomed reverence. • His face was a study in bewilderment as be faced Mathers. “Gan you beat it?” he questioned, spreading out his hands. ‘‘Department ‘Z’ says that yo-ur friend Rama Singh has been on a trip to India to-night, and visited a temple. Am 1 insane, Mathers, or is it you?” | For a moment Mathers just stood staring at his chief with a look of unbelief on his face. “But that's impossible, sir. 1 saw him with my own eyes. Adcock passed a weary hand across his brow. Then a grim smile came Io his lips. “I've got it. Mathers. It’s what I said a. 'Short, while, ago. 'filings like this happen on empty stomachs.” He reached for his hat and crammed it on to his head before struggling into his coat. “Gome on. my lad; 1 know a place where I hey grill steak just as I like it, even if il. is past midnight.’ CIIAPTEB Nil. Ronnie Consults Murohlson. In the two days following the strange events that appeared to have been crowding themselves into the usual commonplace life of Bonnie Bayford, that young man found himself utterly al. a loss Io make what, he was pleased Io call “head or tall” of the puzzle. He still retained possession of lhe Viper, and there had been no further interference with his domestic, life al the flat. Neither had there been any more telephone calls nor -ugly warnings such as lie had received two | nights ago, and while lie considered that an absence of any contact with the mysterious folk, who were apparently on the track of Hie Viper, was indicative, that they had satistied themselves that he was blameless, his 1 mind was by no means al ease. I Since thal pre-arranged meeting down at the inn at Marchampstead he had neither seen nor heard anything of Valerie Vare, and once aagin he was at a Joss to know' just what lo make of the whole business. Once or twice he had played will] the thouglit of throwing up the whole affair and laking lhe Viper round lo Scotland Yard. He fell, that Superintendent. Adcock would, as likely as not, find some very good explanation of I lie mystery, but Ronnie dismissed that thal from his mind almost as soon as the thought had entered his head, le told himself that to do that would mean that he would have to bring Valerie into it. Adcock would want to know just how lhe Viper came inlo his possession, and Bonnie knew that once lhe. Superintendent set eyes on the little image he would immedialeh conned, ils existence with lhe murder of Hie unknown man nt. “The Sign of the Twin Moons.” Thai, was anotli":' tiling. Why was it that so little had appeared in the newspapers about that affair? The young man's mind had been so full of Valerie Vare and his own part in the. mystery that Hus point had so far evaded his interest anil his attention. Gome lo think of il now. there had been little indeed. Little more than a bare announcement, followed by lhe conventional -statement that lhe mailer was receiving Hie attention of Scotland Yard. Bonnie fell, that perhaps he could obtain a new angle on lhe affair and glean some information if lie could discover why the murder had*not received lhe usual newspaper prominence. It was then he remembered Murchison. Murchison was a reporter on lhe Planet, known for ils sensational style and ils emphasis on crime and lhe 'Underworld. He. had once roomed with Murchison in Chelsea before he went inlo partnership wilh Hugh Reynolds. So Ronnie dialled lhe Planet's Fleet Street telephone number and inquired for the news department. only to be. told that Mr Murchison was not al. Hie office. Ronnie hung up with a frown. II * r as seven-lhirly in the evening, and be had been rather late finishing ills round to-day; 100 late, in fact, to gel d decent rneal sent up Lo the flat. So Ronnie made up his mind quickly. He would hop down lo Fleet Street and see if Murchison was lo he found in any of his favourile, haunts. In the old days he remembered Murchison went lo lhe Flagstaff as being a hostelry where he was prone lo spend a considerable portion of his lime in the evening. So lo lhe Flagstaff Bonnie wen I. Sure enough, in lhe basement ba ", wilh ils unique collection of journalistic portraits crowding lhe walls, he found Murchison sealed on one of lhe high counter stools wilh a double whisky and soda on the counter-lop m front of him. regaling three of his pals with the story of his life on a NewYork daily newspaper. ‘ Hello, Bonnie, old man," he greeted him heartily, “and what brings you down lo my holy of holies? By tiie way, I'm in the chair. What's yours?” Ronnie ordered a drink, and fold himself that Murchison hadn't changed; that Murchison probably never would change. He was still the ■same jolly, round-faced fellow- with his soft, hat always perched miraculously on lhe back of his head —one of lhe best-liked fellows in The Street. ... “As a matter of fact,” mentioned Ronnie, “I wanted lo have a little talk j wilh you, if you can tear yourself • away from your friends for a moment I or two. Cheerio!” Bonnnie lifted his ' tankard of ale lo his lips. | “Why, of course.” exclaimed Murchison. “Excuse us for a moment, boys," he said, turning to his companions. “1 have an idea that my old friend here is going to confess lhat he's murdered someone and feels that he. ought lo give the confession to his pal before, giving himself up to the police.” Murchisan’s companions chuckled, but when the pair withdrew to one of the little tables in the adjacent alcove Murchison's eyes were serious, 1 (To be. continued; '