Young My Lord

Waikato Times, Volume 107, Issue 18026, 22 May 1930, Page 12

Young My Lord

CHAPTER XXXI. Murder. It. was considered by the "Great Five” to ‘be one of the most puzzling problems they had ever had to solve; apparently there was no motive whatever for the murder. The victim was a quiet, steady-going man, fulfilling his duties as second night porter at the 'Leviathan Hotel in Northumberland Avenue in a conscientious and satisfactory manner, lie was considered by the management to be one of. the best men they had. There were no complications with the opposite sex; he was very fond of his wife, and a devoted father to his children. So scrupulous was he in regard to his fidelity to his wife, that he had earned for himself the nickname of “Joseph,”' among his fellowworkers in the hotel. And yet this man, who had done no harm to anyone, was found dead, murdered with a knife-r-it could hardly be called a dagger—driven between his shoulder blades and through his heart. But the knife which was left sticking in his body was regarded by the detectives as really the only clue they had, as it was peculiar workmanship. After much inquiry it was identified as one of those war 'relics, a broken weapon manufactured into a knife and sold by the Italian wounded soldiers as souvenirs in most large Italian towns for tiie benefit of those mutilated in the war. After some difficulty it was traced fo a manufaclury of such things at Genoa; but that told the police little. Such things were sold in hundreds, perhaps thousands, to -the tourists of ail nations circulating in Italy. No, the police were at fault. The only other servant who could have been on the same floor at the time of the murder was a chambermaid of mature years. She was closely questioned, and even detained for a day or two, but finally released as perfectly innocent. The rooms on the floor were occupied by visitors well-known Lo the hotel authorities and all accounted for. No, this man who was murdered while making his usual nightly round of the hotel, was apparently killed for no reason at all. The inquest yielded very little but culogiums of the murdered man’s character; the witnesses appeared to be unanimous about that; but as for any clue to the perpetrator of the crime, there was not a shredInspector Dorset gave a nod and a smile to his companion detective as the last witness came, with a pale face, out of the witness box; most people in the court wondered why he had been called at all—he simply knew nothing. “We took it turn and turn about,” he said, speaking with a strong foreign accent, “to go round the hotel to see that all was right. It might have been me that was killed, I might have taken his turn." “But fortunately for you, you did not,” interposed the Coroner. The witness turned a shade paler. "Yes,” he answered slowly, “it was fortunate for me.”

“That first night porter is a knowing looking chap,” Inspector Dorset whispered to his companion as the Coroner announced that that was alt the evidence at present, and adjourned the court. “Yes,” the other detective replied, “I should 'not he surprised if he knows a lot‘more about the matter. But I thought Burston, our counsel, made a regular hash of his examination. He practically asked him nothing, hut still I suppose he had very little to go upon.' ■ The two police officers strolled out of the court, but when they got into the street and away from the crowd, Inspector Dorset spoke again. “Did you notice anything peculiar about the night porter, Davies?” he asked. The other paused and thought. “No, he is just the ordinary hotel employee,” he answered. Dorset took out his pocket book and extracted a photo from it; he placed it in Davies’ hand. “Don’t you notice a likeness between the night porter who gave evidence, and the murdered man?" Davies looked hard at the photo, which was of the deceased in his porter’s uniform. “By jovel” exczlaimed Davies, you are right. There is a likeness between them, they might have been tw’in brothers 1" But the incident of the likeness did not end there. The morning after the inquest began, the senior night porter of the Leviathan Hotel Michel, called at Inspector Dorset’s office; he made a long statement with very little in it, but was very excited while he made it. v ... “Monsieur,” he began, dropping into his foreign accent, “I am in fear of my life. I do not sleep, I walk about my room, I am distracted.” “What’s the matter with you?” enquired the Inspector, who had very little sympathy with these excitable foreign persons. “Look at me, Monsieur,” the porter asked. “Do you not see that l am like Binstead the porter who was killed—everybody tell me so." “You might have been mistaken for each other in a fog,” the Inspector observed, “or in the dark.” “C’est ca,” screamed the porter. “That is where it is, in the dark; Binstead, perhaps, was murdered in the dark in the mistake for me?” “But why should you be murdered?” the officer asked. “Have you done anyone an injury?” Michel waved his arms. “No, I never did nobody no injuries, but it is the likeness. Igo in fear. Perhaps this murderer may lull me. I want the protection of the Surete, you police.” The Inspector threw down the pen he was holding. “Do you want us to send an officer to walk round the Leviathan Hotel with you every night? Rubbish; you are a stropg fellow —carry a thick stick. -You’ve got the wind up. That’s what’s the matter with you!” Michel went our of the Inspector’s office murmuring: “Thick steek, thick steek, while I am being murdered-!" CHAPTER XXXII. A Surprise. With the agreement signed and a cheque for five hundred pounds—three months pay in advance, plus two hundred pounds for travelling expenses—in his pocket, Edward considered himself started on his commercial career. He had gone through that mysterious ceremony of “sending in his papers” and had withstood the ordeal of the Guest Night at the Tower Mess given in his honour as a send-off, wak-

By Colonel H. Curties.

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ing in the morning a sadder but a wiser man, with a yearning for sodawater, which the thoughtful Brown had placed handy beside his bed, iced. Even Beano, who accompanied Brown, looked reproachfully at him. There was nothing to do but pack up and depart to Monte Carlo to | learn the business. ' a first thought do take Beano with him had to be dismissed; the restrictions about bringing dogs back into England were too severe. In addition, he expected to spend a good deal of his time travelling in America. No, Beano had to be left at home, and he could think of no better home for her than with Brown and his wife. This arrangement, had she been consulted, would have suited Beano exactly. When he deposited her in the shop at Westminster he left a happy dog behind him, who made no effort to follow him, sticking close "to the curt- ' seying 'Mrs Brown in the hope that she would presently sit down before the fire; comfort with Beano was the first consideration —it lay on top of the i basket of her desires. | So the days soon sped by. Edward settled up any little matters which ho had outstanding in England—and they were not many—and made his father the' richer and more comfortable by the five hundred a year which be settled upon him—all he had in the world of bis own; but he was determined to begin his business career relying entirely on his own exertions for his support. His bank balance was agreeably swollen by the generous treatment he had received from Mr Westgarth, but he was resolved to take care of the money, as he knew there would be many heavy expenses before him in the States. So Brown packed up his master’s clothes for the last time. “A man who is going to rough it in the States,” Edward explained to him, “must learn to do for himself. I must reserve the luxury of a valet until I get old.” But Brown received a handsome present in adition to the pension settled upon Beano for her residence in the Brown family. The valet came down to Victoria w’ith the baggage and tears in his eyes. “I shan’t get another like 'im, Susan,” he confided to his wife before he left home in the early hours of the morning. “I expect I shall get one of these blighters who turn night into day and spend most of their time and money on the tiles, and bring bits home to Barracks with them.” But Brown was too good a servant and too -well-known in the Regiment to be long without a good master. As a matter of fact, he was absorbed by a sober and steady Major of regular habits. Edward’s baggage had been weighed and the slight excess- paid for, it was not much, for he was determined to travel as light as possible, as a matter of habit. , • He w r as sauntering towards his reserved seat in the Pullman car when a man touched him lightly on the arm. , “Are you Lord Cunswick? he asked. . . Edward looked at him hard; he was a stranger to him. The man smiled. “I think I ought to tell you,” he said, “that I am Inspector Dorset of the C.1.D." “Yes,” answered Edward, looking at the card the Inspector had handed to him. “I am Lord Cunswick.” “I am sorry to inform you,” the Inspector answered, “that my Department cannot allow you to proceed on your journey until you have given an explanation.” (To be continued.)

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