Mother Hubbard and jockey stared each at the other, the woman noting Tom’s soiled clothes and grubby, unshaven face. As though in rebellion at having to grow, the bristles appeared to sprout in clumps like tees on a golf course.
‘Well—well—well!’ at last explained the woman proprietor of this secret den. A man came in to settle his check and was asked to send ‘Ted’. In turn ‘Ted’ was despatched for ‘Jimmy’, and ‘Jimmy’ proved to be a youth obviously far advanced in tuberculosis. He was ordered to ‘take over’, and Tom was invited to enter a room off the office. In this dowdy apartment he was invited to be seated opposite, and so close to the woman that their knees almost touched.
‘I just cum along to see you, that’s all,’ Tom informed Mother Hubbard; then to add as though it were an after thought: ‘And to git some information.’
‘You have come to a funny place to get information. This is not a news exchange.’
‘No? Anyway, I’m ’ere.’
‘Who brought you?’
‘Larry the Fly. I paid ’im a tenner.’
‘You did? You must be flush! What do you want to know?’
‘I want ter know ’oo the blokes are calling themselves, Two of Four and Three of Four, an’ oo’s be’ind ’em. That’s all.’
‘Not much, Tom, is it?’
‘No—easy spilled.’
‘You workin’ for the police?’
‘As far as the police goes, I’m follering in father’s footsteps.’
‘All the same, I’m telling you nothing other than to advise you to watch yourself.’
Tom Brown, alias Tom Pink, regarded Mother Hubbard with a peculiarly cynical smile, and the woman, whose gaze never left his face, momentarily caught her breath in a barely audible gasp.
‘Don’t smile at me like that, Tom. It-it reminds me of someone,’ she pleaded in tones which made of her painted face a hideous caricature. For a moment, the cold calculating hardness vanished. But only for an instant. Abruptly she rose to her feet, to say: ‘I’m getting old, but life is sweet even to Mother Hubbard.’
‘Sit down again,’ Tom commanded, his eyes little points of livid grey. ‘You ’aven’t listened yet to what I want.’ And then when the woman sat down: ‘I know orl about you, Mother ’Ubbard; all ’bout regardin’ a certain time. My ole man was ’anged in Pentridge for snuffling a bloke wot planted snow in your room ’cos he was jealous of my ole man. If it ’adn’t bin for a silly lover’s tiff ’im and you would ’ave bin spliced. Now wouldn’t you?’
Mother Hubbard nodded her peroxided head.
‘I’ll go back a bit just to show you wot I know,’ Tom went on. ‘My old man married my ole woman over that tiff between ’im an’ you. Why, I don’t know; you might. The first time I remember you, you was livin’ not far from ’ere. I uster to be sent to you on the q.t. with letters from my ole man, and you uster gimme lollies at first and then sixpences after I growed a bit.
‘I woke up to wot was goin’ on between you an’ ’im. You was still in love with ’im and ’e with you, an’ the only decent thing ’e ever did in ’is life was to stick more or less, to my ole woman an’ me. You an’ ’im was at the pictures when I seen Mossy Light cum out of your room, ’im using a skeleton key. I knew Mossy ’ad no time for you ’cos you wouldn’t leave me ole man for ’im.
‘You know orl this but I’m just tellin’ you for a bit of fun. When I sees Mossy lock your door with a skeleton, wot did I do? I went round an’ tells Lena about Mossy, an’ Lena used her key to get us into your room. Under your mattress we finds two bottles of snow and three tins of opium, and we ’adn’t bin gorn out five minutes when the D’s arrives. Mossy ’aving planted the stuff on you, he sools on the D’s. An’ if it ’adn’t bin for me, you’d have got a possible five years.
‘Course, I wouldn’t have split to the ole man if I ’ad thought he was gonna lose ’is block and go for Mossy like a bull at a petticoat on a line. Still ’e did, an’ ’e corpsed Mossy ’cos of you. You loved me ole man then, didn’t you? An’ memory ain’t stone cold even now, is it? I never took after me ole man in looks, but some uster say I did look like ’im when I smiled.
‘It seems ter me that takin’ it by and large you owe me somethink—Chick.’
Mother Hubbard started back as though he had struck her. Her eyelids half closed down, then to flash upwards to reveal the blazing blue orbs.
‘Don’t you call me that name,’ she said, her voice suddenly shrill.
‘Well—me ole man uster call you that when ’e kissed you, didn’t ’e?’
‘Let be,’ she gasped. ‘God! To think I’d have all that brought out of the past when I was at last putting it away! I own that I owe you a lot. What is it you want to know?’
‘I want ter know w’o the bloke is behind the men calling theirselves Two of Four and Three of Four.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re a liar!’
‘All right. But I don’t know. What do you want to know for?’
‘Me an’ them ’as a slight argument to settle over doping a cuppler ’orses.’
‘What have you to do with doped horses?’
During a little time-space, Tom scrutinised the highly rouged and powdered face and the brilliant scarlet lips of this scarlet woman. And then he slowly said:—
‘My ole man committed murder ’cos he loved you. I’m gonna go nearly as far ’cos I loved a poor ole ’orse wot was doped. Yer see, I was on top of Olary Boy when ’e ’ad the Melbourne Cup in the bag.’
‘O-oh! You’re a jockey? You go by the name of Tom—’
‘Just so. No need to shout the name.’
‘And I suppose you are sore because you sunk a wad on him?’
‘I put twenty notes on him, but that’s nothink. I loved ole Snozzler, and I’m gonna get evens with the blokes wot done ’im in. Where do I hook up with ’em?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Liar again. You know. You know every crook in Melbourne, an’ every crook’s lay. Come on—spill the beans. You owe me that much.’
‘You leave them alone, Tommy,’ urged the woman, unconsciously using the derivative she always had used to the boy. ‘That crowd are the toughest of ’em all. They’ve already got you in the gun, and if you take my advice you’ll leave Melbourne as soon as you know how.’
‘Nothin’ doin’,’ Tom said steadily. ‘I chewed one bloke’s ears an’ I dented three ’eads with a mulga waddy, but that ain’t enough—not for me, any ’ow.’
‘All the same. I’ll telling you nothing, Tommy. When you’re up against them you’re up against something hard. Now you get out, and keep out while your health’s good. That is how I’m going to repay you. Givin’ you what you want—that wouldn’t be payin you.’
They rose together.
‘All right. Then I get to where I’m goin’ round another corner, but I’ll get there all right.’
‘You may go there how you like, but you won’t go there through me. I must get back to my office. You’ll go out to Larry the Fly, and tell him to get you clear of this place quick an’ lively.’
‘I’ll go when I’m ready to go.’
Mother Hubbard drew close to her visitor.
‘You — fool!’ she said bitingly. ‘Can’t you understand that if those mugs outside knew who you were, they’d guess your business, and there’s others would know in five minutes. And then you’d never get to see daylight again.’
‘That’s all right. I bested ’em once, and I can again. I’m gonna screw off the push an take me time doin’ of it.’
Mother Hubbard sighed deeply, and without further speech motioned him to leave the room before her. Tom passed out into the large apartment and, seeing his guide known as Larry the Fly, seated at a vacant table, he crossed and joined him.
‘We’ll ’ave a cuppler pots,’ he said. ‘I wants to screw orf this mob.’
‘Did you get wot you wanted orf Mother ’Ubbard?’
‘No.’
<
br /> ‘Wot did she say?’
‘Said to get out whiles the gettin’ was good. Go on, order a cuppler pots.’
Larry the Fly caught the attention of one of three servers in this up-to-date underworld club. The man brought the beer and gave Larry the Fly a chit. And after glancing at the chit Larry the Fly cringed and looked up into the server’s face.
‘I ain’t done no ’arm,’ he whined; ‘Wot cher lookin’ at me like that for? I ain’t done no ’arm.’
26
Poisoned Needle
Old Masters’ secretary entered the holy of holies at the top of the great building—and was waved out. Old Masters was engrossed by the reports of the inquest held on the body of a Mr. Harrison, a co-trustee of Mr. Tindale, and of the kidnapping of Senor Alverey.
Harrison, a retired Islands trader, had been standing at the curb of Cathedral Corner when a policeman asked him what was wrong, and Harrison said he had been stung on the back of the neck by a wasp. The next second he was dead.
The wasp’s sting was found to be a needle deeply embedded in Harrison’s neck, and at the inquest the medical experts stated that on that needle had been smeared a virulent poison which acted like snake venom—the same poison which had killed Olary Boy and Pieface.
On the night of the inquest, Senor Alverey had had mounted outside his hotel suite a squad of his sailors, under one of his own ship’s officers. An alleged American visitor and his valet had, at two o’clock in the morning, drugged the man on duty and then had held up the officer and the remaining men in their room, and had gagged and bound them. When eventually one of these men succeeded in gaining his freedom and releasing his companions, they rushed to the suite occupied by their employer, were obliged to break down the door, and then discovered the Argentinian’s valet bound and gagged on the floor of the dressing-room and Alverey vanished.
Alverey’s valet told how he had been awakened too late to offer resistance to two men who had gained entry, and then went on to detail the actions of a third man who entered some time after the first two had departed with his master, who was thought to have been drugged. This third man made no attempt to release the valet. He was masked by a blue silk handkerchief. He was in the bedroom when the seamen hammered on the door, but when they finally rushed in the third intruder had vanished through the window.
Old Masters drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. In the first place, what actuated the kidnapping? Why had Alverey taken all those extraordinary precautions? And what of his instructions to the secretary to purchase leather rigouts and leather hoods, so that he and the valet could be taken, closely guarded, to the ship. Why the leather leggings, overcoats, hoods? Obviously not for a mere disguise: obviously as a measure of defence against something. What was it Alverey had feared?
The secretary silently came in again. On the threshold, he paused to regard Old Masters with astonishment, for his irate employer was sitting well back in his chair, his leonine head set back as far as the bull neck permitted, and on his face a smile.
The secretary coughed.
Old Master’s body was jerked upright.
‘Well, what is it?’ he asked quite affably.
‘Mr. Mason of the C. I. B. wishes to see you, sir. I told him you were very busy, but he is insistent.’
‘Then why the devil didn’t you show him in?’
‘Very good, sir,’ the secretary replied, wondering which was the most changeable—his employer or the weather. Debonair, smiling, Detective Mason strolled to the great desk.
‘I had to see you this afternoon, Mr. Masters, because I have consented to take my girl to the pictures this evening,’ he said with simple candour.
‘Hug-hum! Couldn’t afford to take any young girl to a place of entertainment when I was your age,’ Old Masters replied, still affable.
‘Well, what can I do for you? Sit down.’
Mason chose the leather chair at the end of the desk. ‘We would like to know what your business was with Senor Alverey yesterday evening? May I smoke?’
‘Of course. Smoke till you’re blue. Senor Alverey is an acquaintance of mine.’
‘I know that; but what was the purpose of your call?’
Old Masters regarded his questioner with his chin cupped in his hands. He said:
‘I could invent a hundred excuses, but I am not going to invent one. I am not going to tell you why I wished to see Senor Alverey. It’s no confounded business of yours, or of your superiors.’
‘Permit me to differ on that point. Still, we’ll let it drop for the present,’ Mason drew thoughtfully at his cigarette, before suddenly beaming on the grim old man, then glaring at him. His next question was quite casually put.
‘Do you know a man named Hellburg?’
Old Masters visibly jumped.
‘I do,’ he replied without hesitation.
‘Good! Tell me what you know of him, please.’
‘I am going to say nothing about the man.’
Ninety-nine men out of a hundred, observing the light in the old man’s eyes, and the outward-thrust underjaw, would have accepted defeat and have been excused. Not so this smiling young detective, whose hobby was the study of precious stones.
‘Very well! We will let that drop for a little while. Another question: Why are you so interested in this matter to the extent of having employed an ex-detective?’
Again Old Masters could have found excuses. Once again he scorned such prevarication.
‘Of that, too, I shall tell you nothing. You seem to know quite a lot already.’
‘Not as much as I want to know, Mr. Masters. If you are interested, I shall tell you a little of what I do know.’
Old Masters made no encouraging invitation, or even a gesture. Mason lit another cigarette.
‘Well—shall I talk or get out?’ he asked.
‘Please yourself.’
‘Good! I’ll stay and talk. One little thing I know—I know the poison used to kill your son’s horse and the man named Harrison.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ Mason was only guessing, but he was close to the truth.
‘The poison is the distilled liquid of a certain bulb found in Africa,’ he explained. ‘It is far more powerful than strychnine. One drop is sufficient to kill many adults. The name of the bulb I will not tell you, because I do know it. It is a close Union Government secret.’
‘Very naturally,’ old Masters said dryly.
‘Very, Mr. Masters. Now, in return for that interesting piece of news will you tell me why you called on Senor Alverey last night?’
‘Do you want a job?’ was old Masters surprising counter question. ‘I pay one thousand a year to the head of my shop detective staff, vacant since poor Leader was murdered.’
‘I will consider that later. Just now tell me why you called on Senor Alverey last night.’
‘I admire your tenacity, Mr. Mason. Doing so, I shall answer your question. I went to him to tell him that I knew he had not gone to Sydney as he gave out when he returned from—I think the underworld term it—smoke.’
‘How do you know that?’ Mason asked a trifle eagerly. Old Masters laughed again grimly.
‘Have you wondered why Alverey ordered the leather leggings, leather overcoats and the leather hoods?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I have, and I have reached a reasonable conclusion. He feared being poisoned as was Harrison. A needle, the point of which has been steeped in the African bulb poison is what he feared. Leader might stop such a missile, but to make his chances of escape greater, he intended confusing the needle thrower by dressing his valet and himself in similar rig.’
‘You are a man of intelligence, Mr. Mason. How do you think the missile is propelled?’
‘Theory—just theory.’
‘An explorer friend of mine is inclined to believe that it was propelled through a native blow-pipe. He knows a tribe which uses such a weapon only seven inches in length.’ Mason’s brown eyes were small; his mouth was s
tern. ‘Seven inches or seven feet in length. I think the needle found in Harrison’s neck was propelled from a much more powerful weapon,’ he said.
‘How did you arrive at the idea of the poison bulb?’ asked Old Masters.
‘Oh—the killing of the two horses in the Melbourne Cup and the subsequent inquiry was cabled around the world as news,’ Mason began in explanation. ‘The South African Police Department cabled the recent discovery there of such a bulb as I have described with the known results of its poisonous juice on animals and on its first discoverers.’
‘Hum! So the bulb wasn’t just a brain wave of your own?’
‘No,’ Mason affirmed, laughingly. ‘Now I have told you something, tell me a little. Was it correct that you did not suffer any loss from your library when Leader was murdered?’
‘Nothing. I can never understand just what the murderer was looking for.’
Mason regarded Old Masters steadily.
‘Gee! It’s a case!’ he said rapidly. ‘No wonder that better men than I are bluffed by it Two men murdered by the common knife and two horses and a man murdered by a poisoned needle. Why, it’s damnable. The needle throwing feller can walk along the street, do his worst, and calmly continue on his walk. The victim has no chance whatever.’
‘None,’ agreed the old man grimly.
‘Mr. Masters, tell me what you know of Hellburg.’
Slowly Old Masters shook his massive head.
‘The little I know I’m keeping,’ he said. ‘What I know doesn’t concern this matter. What I guess is a little wild, so I am keeping that, too. My advice to you is to proceed cautiously. His killing Leader and that other man proves his ruthlessness.’
A dawning smile broke on Mason’s alert face.
‘How do you know it was Hellburg behind those two murderers?’ he demanded.
Perhaps for the first time in his life Old Masters had made a slip and knew it.
‘How do YOU know?’ he roared.
Senor Alverey
27
A Piece of Scalp
They had parted, Old Masters and Detective Mason, each having benefited a little by the interview, each knowing that the other knew more than a little and each wondering precisely how much.
The Great Melbourne Cup Mystery Page 13