“The Proverbial Murder Case”

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20421, 11 February 1938, Page 3

“The Proverbial Murder Case”

By WILLIAM SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER XX. — (Continued.) -Yes. Good luck. Remember, evervIhing depends on your alertness tonight.” The detective went out, and Haskell settled down to wait. Shortly after eight o'clock Sergeant Bender came in with the news that Francis Richey had arrived at the inn. As nearly as the constable outside could observe he was now sitting in the bar-parlour. Inspector Haskell expressed tbs approval. The Sergeant went back to his desk. The minutes dragged on. Ten o'clock came and went. Eleven o'clock. Haskell looked at his watch, compared it with the ;f.uck on the wall, and drummed impatiently on the table. Then* he h*vnl the outer door open and shut, and a low, excited voice speaking to Sergeant Bender. Richey nad just left (lie inn! The door to the room opened and Detective-Sergeant Striker appeared. Rut Haskell was already out. of his (hair and sua clung at his hat and coal. “Gome along, s-ergeant. Tnere's no time to be lost, '. .u can gi\e me your, report on the way over." •j hey rusi.ed bdu the street, follow-, ed by the curious stares of the men. 1 Now," * mi L.«-kell, •"tali me whiLj happened. ""Richey came in at two minutes after Kight, sir.” began Striker, stretch- ; ing his legs to keep up with the Inspector's long strides. lie was a little i stout, as befitted his late role, and was unaccustomed to hurrying. "He left his coat and hat in the hall, came dir- j ectly into the bar-parlour, where 1 was sitting, and took a chair in the corner behind the door. There were three men in a party around the fire, and two others —commercial travellers—i sitting with me across the room. I had struck up an acquaintance with them j when 1 first arrived. “Richey rang the bell, and the landlord came in. •* ‘Whiskey and soda sir?’ says the landlord. *• -No.’ says Richey, 'a glass of stout,! if you please.’ | “The landlord went out and got it, and he sat there drinking it slowly j for about half an hour." "Did he seem nervous?" interrupted; Haskell. No, sir. Not that I could see. I; was watching him as close as I could, J what with having to think up things to say about soap to the two blokes 1 1 was talking with. Solomon’s Spicy Soap! for Soothing Soaks was what I was j supposed to be selling.” “My God!" said Haskell. “Get on, with it." They had reached 1 lie inn, and lie stopped outside.

Striker continued: “When he had! finished his glass he got up and went out. I maije an excuse to follow him,' and went to the hall. He had gone up- ; stairs. I hurried up the stairs, but just as I was looking about for h'm 1 heard him coming hack, so 1 got down to the bar-parlour ahead ot' him. He came in, j and a few minutes later managed to gel into conversation with the three men around the fire. He talked with \ them the rest of the evening, and when the bar closed went directly out.” "He. d'dn’t leave the room again?" | “No, sir." | “Gould you tell which way he went when he. was upstairs?” “In the opposite direction from Mr J Garnett's room. There is a turn in the i hall, so I couldn't he sure just how far he went, but he was out of my sight only a few minutes.” Inspector Haskell turned abruptly i and led the way into the inn. There j was a light in the bar. where Mr Bailey : was tidying up for the night. “Good evening. Bailey. Have you any vacant rooms to-night?” The landlord looked up in sur- j prise. “Why yes, sir. Would you like to change, sir?” “Where are they?” said Haskell, ignoring the question. “In the west wing, sir. Nine and, eleven. Both very comfortable." Bailey caught sight of the detective-sergeant in the background and his eyebrows lifted He looked inquiringly at Haskell. “I want to see them at once," the | latter said. “Bring the keys." Bailey dried his hands on a towel j and came out from behind the baa. I “The keys are in the doors, sir." He j led the way up the stairs, wheezing a | little. He turned at the top and went along the hall, away from Garnett's room, into the west wing. “This is number nine. sir. Quite a large and comfortable—“ Haskell glanced in and out again. “Show me the other?" “Yes. sir." Bailey's voice was a little startled. He moved on. around a i turn in the. hall and stopped before another door. “Now, this is eleven, sir. Not quite | as large as nine, hut it has more sun j in the morning.” He turned the knob | and pushed, but the door did not open. ; There was no key in the keyhole. j “That's queer,” he remarked. He knocked sharply. “Couldn’t have made j a mistake sir." He knocked again. ! There was no response.

A Thrilling Mystery Story

Inspector Haskell pushed him aside and stooped to look through the keyhole. Then tie produced a penknife, opened it, and inserted the blade. "Key’s gone," he said. "Have you another, Bailey?” The lat little proprietor scratched his head. “There should he one about somewhere, sir. I’ll have to look." “Quickly, then. This is a serious matter." Bailey shuffled off. Haskell and the detective leaned against the wall and waited. A clock in the lower hall struck the half hour. Five minutes later Bailey returned with a large bunch of keys of all sizes and shapes. He tried them, one after another, without success. "It’s gone sir." he said at last. ”1 don’t under- “ Xever mind." Haskell interrupted sharply. “We’r* have to break the door. 'There’s no time for anything else.” He drew back and hurled himself against the door. It shook under the impact, but did not give. “Let me try, sir." suggested Striker. “I’m a little heavier, I think."

Three attempts, however, failed to produce any result. The door seemed remarkably solid. “Get an axe, Bailey," said Haskell. “This door must come down at once." Again they waited. The Inspector fidgeted nervously, and peered once more through the keyhole. “How about the window, sir?” said Striker. Haskell shook In’s head. “We should need a ladder. This will be quicker. Here comes Bailey, now.” The landlord appeared, carrying an axe which he held out reluctantly. “I don’t understand this, sir,” lie remarked for the second time. *T shall expect, of course, to be reimbursed for this damage.” Haskell swung the axe and the heavy panel split. In two minutes he had chopped a hole in the centre of the door. Pulling an electric torch from his pocket, he squeezed through into the room. He found the switch, and! turned on the lights. The room was empty. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. With frantic haste he began to search it. He examined the closet, pulled out drawers, ripped the covers from the bed, and thumped the walls. Striker, who had squeezed through the door with some difficulty, lent his aid. When they had finished the room was a wreck. They found nothing. “Back!” Haskell said curtly. “The other room.” Aroused by the noise, the other guests of the inn had assembled in the hall. 'There was a barrage of questions as they pushed their way through the crowd to the door of number nine. Haskell lifted a hand for silence, and said: “Go back to your rooms, put on some heavy clothing, and go down to the lounge at once.” Catching the eye of Eleanor Crosley, he nodded reassuringly. The crowd began to dis-

They attacked number nine with renewed energy. Again they found nothing. Haskell, his face red with exertion, leaned against the bedpost, breathing heavily. “By God!” he said. “He’s done it again, Striker. Mow, 1 don’t know, but he’s done it. Are you positive that he didn't leave that room again?” “Positive, sir.” “And you watched him constantly while lie was in it?” “Yes, sir.” Haskell shook his head and turned toward the door. He had taken two steps when he slopped abruptly. - From somewhere below came the sound of a dull, booming explosion. The lloor shook slightly. Then, after a little pause, they heard the sharp crackling of flames in dry wood. With a lunge Haskell threw himself forward, swung through the open door and ran for the stairs. Smoke was already billowing up as he reached them. The old inn. dry as tinder, was burning like a bonfire under the impetus of the high wind which whistled through the cracks of doors and windows. From outside came the fraptlc blasts of the constable’s whistle rising above men's shouts and the sound of running feet. He descended the stairs in three jumps, nearly bowling over the fat form of Mr Bailey, who stood horrified at the bottom, wringing his hands helplessly. The smoke was rolling through the cracks of a door directly under the stairway. Haskell wrenched at it and found it locked. “What’s in here?” he shouted at Bailey. “Closet, sir. A coat closet.” Through the roaring of the flames inside Haskell heard another sharp explosion. smaller than the first. "Any petrol or cleaning fluids in here ?” "There might he, sir. Haskell, turning, found Striker beside him. “Get upstairs." he siad. “and see that Garnet I is kept in bed. Don't let them move him unless I give the word. We’ll have help in a moment." (To he continued.)