Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

14 drug, and perhaps Doyce was financinfr you. I feel pretty certain about the new druSt be- cause the police analyst is haviiifc trouble ideutifying it. Well?" Sketchlcy involuntarily looked past Slade at one of the shelves. Slade smiled blandly, and turned. There was a space in the middle of a row of bottles. "Well, Bkelchley, where is the new drug?'' he aske<l. Sketchloy beccan to go pale. "It's gone!" he said. "I'd made a sample of disitaliii six and put it on that shelf. It's deadly stuff." "You're t€llinff me!" Slade remarked. Eaille thrust hi.s way forward impatiently. " Don't you see what he is trying to do. Dick?" he said to Sketchley. He swung lound on Slade. "Anyone could have tak«u that poison from the shelf, inspector. Most of the Trojan team have been down here at one time or another." "All!" Slade murmured. "Team loyalty, eh, RailHe? Now listen, Sketchley! You owe Doyce money, and you were on to somethinf^ which might make a fortune, and which Doyce would have shared. Doyce was killed hy a new and deadly poison, and your digitalin six has vanished. You're an intelligeut fellow, and there's no need for me to t«ll yon the spot you're in. Your only hope of prov- ing your innocence is to find that digitalin six, Sketchley, and to find it quick!" He turned and walked towards the stairs. '"Come along, Clinton," he called over his shoulder "We have a lot of work to do yet." Clinton, tagging along in Slade's wake, thought that Slade was wasting a lot of time. The inspector seemed to bo very interested in everyone's personal lives. For instance, he learnt Gwen Lee's address, and heard all about how Doyce had been the cause of her break- ing off her engagement with Morring. Then he asked innimierable questions about the old team from which the Trojans had sprung, and learnt that the manager Kindilett had once liad a daughter Mary. Mary Kindilett was now dead apparently. Slade asked dozens of other questions, prying into the affairs of every member of the "Trojan team. Finally, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face, he said to Clinton; " We will now go and see this Gwen Lee. I rather think she will be able to tell us the identity of the murderer." " She hasn't come forward voluntarily," Clinton eaid. "The newspapers containing her description are out by now.'" "It is early yet," Slade answered. "Yoti always want to be in such a frightful hurry, Clinton." They drove to Owen Lee's address—a small flat in a mews. Lights were showing from her windows, but they got no response to their knocking. It was then getting fairly late, and Slade thought perhaps she wotiUI bo getting leady for hed. Tlioy went on hammering at the door, but lliere %vas still no answer. In the end, feeling s-lightly worried. Slade told Clinton to break down the door. They burst in. and (lien stripped abruptly. Owen Lee was lying across the bed, and siio was very still. Quickly Slade went over and felt her pulse. C'linton saw something Iving on the floor, and ivhipped out a clean handkcrtiliief. He stooped and picked the object up. It was a botHe. "Digitalin six, sir!" ho said, liis voice tense. Slade did not seem to hear, llo was rum- maging througli her handbag. He found some bills made oiit to Dovco. and a newspaper cut- ting. It related to the death of Mary Kindi- lett, and stated that her body had boon found floating in a mill-stream. "Poor kid!" he muttered, l6okiiig down nt Owen Lee. "Suicide, sir?" ClintAn aslad. "No. Murder." Rlnde turned away, 1u'.« •sliouldem hunched. "You know, Clinton, that fellow Raille was right. Whoever killed Doyoe flid an eitecutioner's job. Not that that is any business of ourfl. Murder is a pastime wc frown upon in this reunify." "Yo\i Imow who did il, Bir?** Slado shook his licnd, Febrtiary «tli, ISV). BOY'S CINEMA "No, Clinton, I do not," he replied. "But I should .saj' offhand that it was one of tv.o men. You will find out which when the Ai-senal and the Trojans replay their match. I shall leave the final solution and the arrest to you." Clinton looked startled. "To me, sir!" he exclaimed. "But I don't kirow " "You will, Clinton!" Slade murmured. "You will. Don't worry. And now phone for some men to come down here, and then we'll go home." Clinton nodded and picked up the telephone. A TRAP IS SPRUNG MUCH to Clinton's discomfiture, Slade seemed to lose all interest in the case from that moment. He went back to his re- hearsal shed, and devoted himself to making his "ladies" more alluring for the police concert. Clinton tried to make him discAiss the murder, but Slade refused. He just said that everything would be all right on the day of the replay, and then shooed Clinton off. But Clinton found that Slade was perfectly capable of giving his attention to two things at once. Ctmton found that when he reached the Stadium on the day of the replay, Slade had ordered the seals to be taken off the treatment-room. He promptly went to the glass instrument case and looked inside the jar of sterilised horsehair. Then he raced to a phone. "Look here, sir," he said to Slade. "that ring is still in the jar, and you've tiiken the guard off the treatment-room. The murderer will be able to regain possession of that ring, and then we're flummoxed." "Clinton," came back Slade's voice over the wire, "did you borrow that fishing hat of mine?" "Ye.>. sir. but " " Good! I always make my arrests in my fishing hat. It's lucky. I thought you ought to share its good fortune." "But I don't see, sir. what a fishing hat had to do with the ring." Slade chuckled. "Tell me, Clinton," he said softly, "did you take off the lid of the horsehair jar to look inside it? ' " Of course, sir." "Did you have j-our gloves on?" "Well, no, sir." "Excellent. Take a look at your hand, will you?" Clinton did so. and gave a g.isp. His fingor.s were discoloured. Slade hoard the gasp, and chuckled again. "Do you remember mo blowing some powder over the lid of that jar, Clinton?" he asked. "Well, the powder was bromo-phenol, and whoever touches it will have to scrub his hands for n week before he gets the stain off. Now all you have to do, m5' lad, is to circulate until you find someone with a hand that matches yours. When you do. make the pinch. The culprit is in the Trojau team, and it is unlikely that you will get results until after half-time." Clinton's eyes were open wide with ad- miration. "I get it;!" he .said excitedly. "So all I have to do is to wait until the teams take the field after the interval, and then do my stuff. It's easy." Slade sighed deeply. "Clinton, there are times when I despair of you," he said. "The teanis are already having to rei)lay after a nnirder. Don't let them be disappointed a second time. Your man will be too busy to run awav." "I see, sir," said Clinton. "You surprise mc," remarked Slade, and hung up. Clinton wont out on to tho field. The Stadium was crowded again, and the two teams were in position ready for the kick-off. There was a feeling of tension in the air. Everyone knew that the match was to bo a hard battle—and, apart from that, tho shadow of nmrder hung over thorn all. The A\histle went, and the game began. The two teams fought dcsijerately, but by the time Every Tuesday half-time came, there was no score on either side. Clinton kept out of the way during the in- terval. When the teams went back on to the field he hurried to the treatment-room. Quickly he lifted the lid from the jar of horse- hair, and groi)ed around with a pair of tweezers Then he replaced the lid and rushed to a telephone. Slade was just getting his chorus into nice shape when the call came through. He sighed deeply, and said: "Yes, Clinton, what is it?" "The ring's gone, sir!" Clinton shouted ex- citedly. Slade rubbed his ear ruefully. " Of course it's gone, you fool! You don't have to tell me!" he snapped. "Who took it?" "I—I don't know, sir." Clinton sounded a trifle dashed. "I haven't looked yet. I thought you'd like to know what had hap- pened." "Listen, Clinton," said Slade patiently. "I have here a bunch of lunatics who are slowly driving me crazy. They've worn big boots for so long that they've almost forgotten what it is to be graceful—if they ever knew. And tho best you can do about helping me is to ring me up for pleasant little chats. Well, let this sink into your head. I do not want to hear from you again until you have finished your job Underetand ?" "Y-yes, sir," muttered Clinton. "And if you bungle things I'll—I'll break you. Good-bye!" And Slade slammed down tho receiver and got the piano going again. Clinton wandered away from the phone and looked to see how the game was going. He was feeling nervous. Ho took out his watch and saw that there was a long time to go before the match would be finished. This iii- aotivity was getting him down. He wanted to do something. Suddenly he had an idea, and rushed up the steps to the broadcasting box. He found Emmett and George Allison there, and George Allison was watching the game through a pair of binoculars. Clinton snatched them from him and started scanning the field with them. "Hi!" said George Allison. "What's going on?" Clinton did not answer. He focused on each of the Trojan players in turn. Then he let out a yell, and gave the binoculars back. "Anything wrong?" George Allison asked. "I am going to arrest a murderer," said Clititon importantly, and hurried away. He found a couple of constables, and stationed them out of sight close to the en- trance to the dressing-rooms. Then he waited. A roar went up from the crowd. Raille had got the ball, and raced with it towards the Ar.senal goal. Timing his play nicely, he dodged the last man of the defence, and found himself face to face with Swindin, the Arsenal goalie. Ho steadied himself, and shot. "Goal!" roared the crowd. "Goal!" The wliLstlo went, and the teams began to move back to the centre of the field. Then the referee took out his watch, and gave a jirolongcd blast. The game was over. Clinton took a firm hold on himself as ho saw tho teams coming towards him. Then he suddenly stepped forward. "Take it ea.sy, Raille!" he said in a low voice, and made a sign to the constables to close in. Raille stared at him, then saw the uniformed men. He frowned at Clinton, and saw (hut Clinton was looking at his left hand. It was discoloured. Raille shrugged hopelessly. "All right," he said. "I quite understand." Clinton hurried him away to a police cflr, and tohl the driver to go to Scotland Yard. "Good work, Clinton," said Slade some time afterwards. "I know it had to bo either Kindilett or Raille. Kindilett was very cut up when his daughter committed suicide, you see. She did it becau.sc Doyce let her down. Ho was a great one with tho ladies, was Doyce. Anyway, Mary was engaged to Raille, and