Cap Fog 5

Home > Other > Cap Fog 5 > Page 15
Cap Fog 5 Page 15

by J. T. Edson


  A remark about how fortunate they were to avoid such undesirable and unwanted attentions from the press had caused Mr. Reeder to speak of a most interesting factor in the killing of the entertainer. Meeting Chief Inspector Oliver Rater by chance, while attending a conference at Scotland Yard, and accompanied by Ranse, they had discussed the case. Eager to obtain the advice of the Texan in particular, the Orator had waxed exceptionally loquacious on the subject most puzzling to him. 55 While unable to offer anything which might lead to the solution of the mysterious slaying, Ranse had expressed the opinion—with which Mr. Reeder and the policeman tended to be in agreement—that the color of the suspect seen by the witness could most likely prove to be no more than a disguise similar to that which he and the detective had adopted the previous evening, albeit for a different purpose.

  ‘We don’t have too many black gunmen around the good old U.S. of A., comes to that,’ Sergeant Alvin Dustine ‘Rapido Clint’ Fog asserted. ‘And, from what I’ve noticed over here both times, one would be a whole heap more conspicuous than he’d be likely to be in ’most any city back to home. Anyways, did you learn anything from those four yahoos who dug up the body?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Mr. Reeder said and, although his attention was concentrated on the matter which he and his companions were considering, he was later to remember the remark which preceded the question from the small Texan. ‘They’re all old … um … lags, but none of them had previously done anything even remotely in the nature of robbing a … um … grave. In fact, as I said to Mr. Gaylor when we parted in the wee hours of this morning, it is the very first occasion when even … um … I have come across a case of it.’

  ‘Isn’t there any way you can get them to tell you who hired them?’ Rita inquired.

  ‘If there is, I’m afraid we haven’t … um … ascertained it as yet,’ the detective confessed, seemingly considering he must have been to blame in some way for the omission. ‘All four are so completely lacking in … um … intelligence, their idea of playing a guessing game would be for one to leave the room and the rest have to try to guess who it was who went.’

  ‘That was a Polack joke the last time I heard it,’ the girl complained.

  ‘Good gracious, was it?’ Mr. Reeder queried, apparently aghast at the discovery. ‘Be that as it may, while they are somewhat lacking in … um … intelligence, they are equally stubborn in their complete disinclination to satisfy our curiosity in any … um … way. In fact, faced with what I suppose is to them an understandable … um … reticence, one might wish we could emulate your use of the … um … rubber hose which, I believe is considered a most efficacious instrument for inducing confidences.’

  ‘I can’t bring to mind any time us good ole boys of Company “Z” ever used a rubber hose, or any other kind, on anybody,’ Rapido protested. ‘Nor has any other peace officer I’d call a friend, comes to that.’

  ‘I know I never do,’ ‘Comanche Blood’ affirmed, exuding what seemed an aura of conscious virtue until his next words spoiled the effect. ‘Give me staking ’em out on an anthill any old time.’

  ‘I would imagine that is a most … um … meritorious system,’ Mr. Reeder assessed, adopting his quizzically judicious manner. ‘Unfortunately, however, it is … um … impractical over here due to the most lamentable … um … dearth of anthills.’

  ‘Not having any would make using them difficult,’ Rita consoled, aware such comments were frequently passed between men who had developed strong bonds of friendship and mutual respect for one another as a means of helping to stimulate more serious thought.

  ‘How very … um … true, my dear,’ the detective conceded. ‘By the by, our grave robbers have already acquired legal … um … counsel.’

  ‘Not that Wally Marks hombre I’ve been hearing tell so much about?’ the Indian dark Texan suggested, the knowledge having been imparted by Jason Grant.

  ‘Nobody so … um … eminent,’ Mr. Reeder denied, his manner implying he wished to save the solicitor from being falsely accused. ‘However, Mr. Bill Kinnock is to Mr. Marks what the jackal is to the lion. He takes on such lesser clients as are unable to meet Mr. Marks’ high fees.’

  ‘But Marks is behind it,’ Rapido stated rather than inquired.

  ‘He undoubtedly … um … is,’ the detective confirmed, with complete conviction. ‘and, behind him, as Sir James has established to my entire … um … satisfaction, is a very much alive and well Miss Olga Flack.’

  ‘She must’ve managed to fake the appendicitis so they’d take her to hospital,’ 56 Rapido guessed. ‘Then some of her boys grabbed her off the ambulance, put the girl in with the three attendants and set in on fire.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr. Reeder agreed, having informed the party of the incident, his manner cold and angry. ‘If only Miss Nickerson had told me where she was when she called to arrange a meeting, I could have warned her there is always a man downstairs listening to every message in and out of that damned Club—!’

  ‘You’d been too late to save her,’ Comanche pointed out.

  ‘Churgwin wouldn’t have dared do anything to her, knowing I knew where she was,’ Mr. Reeder countered bitterly. ‘As it was, he decided he could take the chance of getting rid of her and, knowing a substitute was needed to supply the body they had to have in the ambulance, he decided to use her. It would amuse Flack to think she was being replaced by somebody who might have been trying to warn me of what was being planned.’

  ‘Nice people!’ Rita breathed, noticing how all the hesitancy had left the detective’s voice and he suddenly seemed far younger. In fact, his attitude reminded her of Rapido, Comanche and Ranse on the day they had heard about their two amigos having been murdered by the Chopper. As she had felt then, she decided she would not care to be in the shoes of the person responsible for the change. ‘Where do you think the Flack woman is hiding?’

  ‘Even with my … um … celebrated “criminal mind”, I’m afraid I do not have the slightest … um … idea,’ Mr. Reeder confessed, making an almost visible effort and returning to his usual manner of speech and demeanor. ‘However, as her alter ego was last seen alive therein, the … um … Pinhole Club might produce at least a … um … suggestion.’

  Neither the girl nor the Texans thought any the worse of the elderly looking man for going back to a posture intended to deceive people in general and unsuspecting criminals in particular with regards to his true potential. It was maintained—even in the presence of those privy to the secret —for the same reason ‘Rapido’ and ‘Comanche’ were always called by their aliases, to lessen the chance of it being forgotten and the truth revealed at an inauspicious moment.

  ‘Then,’ Comanche growled, looking like one of his Indian warrior ancestors in an especially ugly mood. ‘There’s some’s might say the easiest way to find out’d be go in head down and horns a-hooking to take a look.’

  ‘If it were only that … um … easy,’ the detective sighed. ‘Regrettably, being on the surface so eminently … um … respectable an establishment—albeit offering a somewhat unconventional form of … um … entertainment on the so called “Cat Fight Nights”—with the majority of its clientele drawn from high … um … society, we would be required to produce a most excellent reason for making a … um … raid upon it.’

  ‘But, happen you had that excellent reason,’ Rapido drawled. ‘You’d be able to go in, huh?’

  ‘Without … um … hesitation,’ Mr. Reeder confirmed. ‘And without subjecting those who assisted me to the inconvenience of legal repercussions over having done so.’

  ‘Then,’ the small Texan declared, suddenly giving the impression of being the largest man in the room. ‘It just might be you’ll get the said excellent reason one night real soon!’

  Chapter Thirteen – Go Get Her, Rita-Gal!

  ‘Well, old boy,’ Squadron Leader Arnold Blandish said, walking with Major John Gray to where Sergeant Ranse Smith had just landed and was climbing from the cockpit of a Sopwith 7F. 1 Snip
e biplane. Although he tried, he was not entirely successful in concealing the relief he felt over the safe return of the fighter aircraft. It belonged to 28 Squadron, Royal Air Force—of which he was commanding officer—and had just been put through a series of daring aerobatics by the American whom he and his pilots had invited to be their guest at their Station near Brockley, Kent. ‘How do you like her?’

  ‘She’s a mite snug around the hips for somebody my size, but she’s real good to handle,’ the blond giant assessed, removing the flying helmet and goggles he had been loaned; their use being mandatory even though his flight was unauthorized by ‘higher authority’ and against King’s Regulations. ‘Only, from the look of your face, you’re pleased I’ve brought her down without breaking anything.’

  ‘Only for your sake, old boy,’ the Squadron Leader asserted, realizing something of his perturbation must have shown to the keen eyed visitor from ‘overseas’ and also grinning. ‘Although I must admit that when you beat up the field at very low level, I couldn’t help thinking what a pity it would be if the Service was to lose me before I could become “Himself’ himself, Marshal of the Royal Air Force.’

  ‘Actually, Alvin, the Army doesn’t have a “‘Himself’ himself, Marshal of the Royal Air Force”,’ the Major explained, as soberly as if imparting information of the greatest importance, having noticed the emphasis placed upon the word, ‘the’ with which their host had tried to indicate the superior status of his ‘Service’. ‘In fact, we even chucked out the Royal Flying Corps as unlikely ever to be required in civilized warfare.’ Then, eyeing the Squadron Leader with the thinly hidden satisfaction of a soldier able to give a reminder that another branch of the Armed Forces was not at that moment in the good graces of ‘higher authority’, he went on, ‘I would imagine “Their Airships” 57 would be a trifle miffed if Alvin had broken that barbaric device of yours, Arnold. After all, you crab-fats 58 seem to be making a habit of mislaying your infernal flying contraptions these days.’

  ‘Not in the Command, old boy, we haven’t lost a fighter in days,’ Blandish protested. ‘Of course, one wouldn’t expect a pongo of the licentious soldiery to know the difference between us and the boffins in “Wings and Bangs” at Martlesham 59 and it was them who lost that Yankee—no offense meant lo you, Alvin—inventor chappy’s kite.’

  ‘No offense taken, amigo,’ Ranse assured. ‘Shucks, like every raised-right Texan, I was twelve years old before I learned “goddamned Yankee” wasn’t all one word.’

  It was three o’clock on Friday afternoon, the fourth day after the arrival in England of the contingent from the Texas Rangers’ Company ‘Z’.

  There had been a few developments in the matter which had brought the blond giant and his companions from the United States, but none of them appeared to help in the search for the Chopper.

  On Wednesday, as Mr. J.G. Reeder was returning across a busy street to rejoin Ranse—after having been to speak with a man he knew to be an informer had signaled for him to go over and receive some news—an attempt was made to run him down with a speeding lorry. Only a very prompt evasion, made with what would have appeared amazing speed to anybody unacquainted with the truth about the seemingly aged and frail detective had saved him. 60 His subsequent investigation had exonerated the ‘nose’ of involvement in the attempt and had established it was organized on behalf of a gang leader operating out of Nottingham and named—with the kind of coincidence no writer of fiction dare use as a plot device—Robin Hood. 61 Arrested by the Flying Squad after a hectic chase during which his vehicle knocked down and killed a pedestrian, the driver was induced to incriminate his employer. Added to various other criminal activities revealed by Mr. Reeder’s sources of information, this resulted in a lengthy term of imprisonment for the latest seeker after the reward of her deceased father’s ‘Encyclopedia of Crime’ offered by Olga Flack.

  Yet other sources had determined that the thwarted assassination attempt by Herbert McPriest at Waterloo Station had been carried out via the instigation of Louis ‘Lou’ Birkstone. Unfortunately, on this occasion, the requisite confirmation was not available to allow criminal proceedings to be instituted against Birkstone in a court of law. Instead, the police had commenced an operation against him similar to that mounted in Texas by Major Benson Tragg in order to gather information which would, hopefully, lead to the Chopper. This proved so costly to Birkstone, he soon had cause to regret even having thought of attempting to earn the ‘bounty’ placed upon Mr. Reeder’s head.

  Following the usual investigatory procedure, Chief Inspector Oliver Rater had adopted the most obvious course by starting to seek out from among the associates of Frederick Manton in the theatrical world those with a motive for killing him. Even though the entertainer had generally been liked, there were several suspects and testing their respective alibis was proving a lengthy process. It was still in progress, but the Orator was already considering he should spread his net further in the hope of finding the solution.

  Learning of the failure to prevent the body of Molly Nickerson from being examined by the eminent pathologist, Olga Flack had concluded there was no longer any point in continuing the pretense that she had been killed in the crashed ambulance. Furthermore, on discovering informers had already started to spread the story of her offer to present her father’s much sought after ‘Encyclopedia’ to whoever killed Mr. Reeder, she had seen the advantage of letting it be known she was still alive. Such was the strength of close to superstitious awe and dread still inspired among the denizens of the underworld by the surname she bore, the ‘noses’ quickly resumed their previous reticence regarding anything even remotely connected with her affairs.

  However, before the silence had descended, one significant piece of news reached Mr. Reeder!

  The continued failure by the expensive hired killer imported from America to take the required action against the main recipient of Olga Flack’s hatred was becoming irksome to William Maxwell ‘Billy’ Churgwin. According to rumors from the underworld, in spite of having expended a considerable sum of money to bring the Chopper across the Atlantic, Churgwin’s dissatisfaction was increased because he had no way of contacting him and demanding an explanation for the delay.

  Despite its considerable potential as a news item, the incident at Stivinn’s Wharf had continued to be given little coverage in the press. Even that which did appear was inaccurate and made no mention of the participation by Ranse and Mr. Reeder. This was partly because, aware of how the ‘liberal’ elements were always eager to seize upon any opportunity to defame the forces of law and order for their own ends, it had been decided at high level to keep what a later generation would term a ‘low profile’ on the matter. This had been helped by the fact that only the two senior officers in the raiding party had been aware of exactly what took place by the dilapidated weigh bridge building. By the time other officers were allowed to come over, having been occupied before in dealing with the resistance of the grave robbers, the detective and the Texan were no longer on the scene. Therefore, Chief Inspector Frank Gaylor and Inspector Jonathan Ambrose ‘Johnny’ Wade had supported the supposition that the Hamilton brothers had been killed by rivals in the underworld.

  The desire for the ‘low profile’ was helped by more than just the delay in reporters hearing of the incident and by the absence of details which would otherwise have supplied an added fillip. In addition to the murder of Frederick Manton being of considerable interest to the public, something even more spectacular occurred to further divert attention from what happened at Stivinn’s Wharf. Making a daring raid on the Aircraft and Armaments Experimental Station at Martlesham Heath, in Suffolk, somebody had stolen the Vickers Vimy bomber modified to test the practicality of employing it as a ‘ground attack’ weapon if armed with several Thompson submachine guns. It had last been seen flying eastwards towards the North Sea, but there had been no report of it having landed anywhere within its range on the Continent.

  Having been at a loose
end while awaiting the next developments, Ranse had elected to take up the invitation he had received to visit 28 Squadron. Accompanied by Major John Gray—whose rarely used surname was Reeder—he had been treated most hospitably by Squadron Leader Blandish and the other officers. Pressed for a demonstration, inspired by references to his ability to draw and shoot very fast—despite his only having exhibited the former quality at Waterloo Station having featured, prominently in the ‘popular’ press he had obliged. Taken to the Station’s ‘clay pigeon’ shooting range and using his Webley-Fosbery Automatic Revolver drawn from its shoulder holster—it having been decided by Mr. Reeder that he should continue to go armed in some way at all times, in case he too should be selected as a target for revenge by Olga Flack—he had treated his hosts to an exhibition of frontier style gun handling.

  Proving his skill as a pilot next, by taking up the Station’s Avro 504 utility aircraft, the blond giant had hinted he would like to try his hand in a fighter to make a comparison between it and the Boeing PW—9 he had flown at the invitation of a friend commanding a Pursuit—as the American Army Air Corps called their equivalent of what the British designated a ‘fighter’—Squadron. At first reluctant, Blandish had agreed provided the blond giant won a further shooting test by hitting a discharged clay pigeon from the draw. As his host did not stipulate he used the Webley, and being unaware that he had a more suitable weapon in the Major’s car, he had agreed. Collecting and donning the Burgess folding riot gun, without anybody seeing him or discovering the substitution beneath his jacket, he had earned himself the flight. Shown the ‘taps’—as his host described the controls and instruments—on the little Sopwith biplane, a much less complicated matter than would be the case with later and more sophisticated aircraft, he had accustomed himself to the feel of the machine in the air and given the exhibition of aerobatic flying which had provoked the comments on landing.

 

‹ Prev