The Great Melbourne Cup Mystery Page 12

  ‘Well!’

  ‘Oh—I rang you up to say how sorry I am to have got you involved needlessly with the affair at Ryrie Place,’ went on the soft, languid voice. ‘You see, the man I took on in place of Two of Four, now serving a long sentence is rather new. It appears that last night Mr. Leader was a little uneasy in his mind, and he induced a perfectly innocent person to exchange his new grey overcoat and nice hat for an old and shabby overcoat and a battered hat. The exchange was not noticed by the new Two of Four.

  ‘Therefore, when, as planned, you were out of the house tonight Three of Four was much surprised when Mr. Leader entered your library whilst Three of Four was examining your papers. Realising the mistake committed by Two of Four, he at once rectified it.

  ‘Are you still there, Mr. Masters? Yes? Well, a few words of advice. Don’t meddle with my affairs, or your peace will be disturbed. And don’t employ anyone else, because removals I do not favour, as a rule. I trust you understand me?’

  ‘The hangman will settle your affairs, Hellburg,’ Old Masters roared fiercely. ‘You—’

  ‘Life, of course, is very uncertain, Mr. Masters,’ the hateful voice went on calmly. ‘I refer to your existence as well as to my own. Goodbye—or shall it be, au revoir?’

  22

  Very Strange

  A week passed, a week filled with anxiety for Old Masters, for his son, and for Dick Cusack; and in lesser degree for Diana Ross. On the evening of the day that the inquiry was held on the killing of the two racehorses, Dick and Roy, with Tom Pink, arrived to dine with Mr. Tindale and his ward.

  ‘Are you quite recovered?’ Diana asked the jockey.

  ‘Yes, Miss Ross. I came a terrible cropper offn ole Snozzler, but I’m all right now, thank you,’ was the reply.

  ‘It was a mercy you weren’t killed.’

  ‘It were that, Miss,’ Tom agreed, his hairless head shining like a billiard ball, his recently shaven face glowing like a pale tomato. ‘But I wouldn’t have minded the buster if Olary Boy ’adn’t been killed.’

  ‘It was dreadful—but-but— - do you know what’s happened?’

  Tom Pink grinned bashfully.

  ‘Yes, Miss. I’ve lost me stuttering, but I’d ’ave sooner kept me stutter than lose ole Snozzler. Me and somebody is gonna ’ave a word or two in private some day.’

  ‘Well, I hope you will allow me to be present, Mr. Pink,’ Diana said, her eyes glinting.

  Tom looked his doubting mind.

  ‘Perhaps, Miss, if you was there I wouldn’t enjoy myself so much,’ he stated seriously.

  ‘Then I shall keep away. Tell me, someone, all about the inquiry at the Racing Club’s headquarters.’

  ‘Box on, Roy. You’re a better talker,’ urged Dick.

  ‘It was all pretty rotten,’ Roy said in preamble. ‘The day after the Melbourne Cup the chief vet conducted an autopsy on Olary Boy and Pieface. Hullo! Here is Mr. Tindale. You are just in time to hear an account of the inquiry, Mr. Tindale.’

  ‘Good! I am most anxious to hear all about it,’ averred the squatter. ‘How d’you, Dick. How d’you, Tom. Glad to see you about again. Feeling fit?’

  ‘All right, thanks, Mr. Tindale.’

  ‘Good—again! Now, Roy, fire ahead.’

  ‘I was just saying that the chief veterinary surgeon examined Olary Boy, and Pieface the morning after the race,’ Roy explained. ‘He found that both horses had been poisoned by an agent in the neurotoxic division. What it was precisely he was unable to state. He called in the Government toxicologist, who, after making blood tests, gave it as his opinion that the horses appeared to have died from snake venom. The venom of the majority of our Australian snakes would account for the action of the poison introduced.

  ‘Exactly what the poison was, he couldn’t say. It had attacked the nerve centres, causing failure of the heart. It would have had little if any effect on the respiratory organs—which accounts for the sudden death unaccompanied by any warning symptoms.’

  ‘Very strange,’ remarked the squatter. ‘How was the poison administered?’

  ‘That too, was not ascertained,’ Roy replied. ‘They made a thorough examination of the horses’ hides, and discovered no mark, no sign of a hypodermic being used.’

  ‘Then it must have been administered in their food.’

  ‘That was the opinion given by both the vet, and the specialist.’

  ‘It wasn’t given ’em in their tucker, as I said,’ Tom declared, heatedly. ‘They oughta ’ave skinned them ’orses to make proper search for needle marks.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right, Tom. Anyway, they did not, and it’s too late now. Nat Sparks described all the precautions he took to safeguard the horses from interference, and the president afterwards said he could have done nothing more. Tom, here, stated that he never left Olary Boy from the moment he was taken from the stables.’

  ‘Hum! It is a horrible business,’ Mr. Tindale said slowly. ‘And as the horses were deliberately poisoned, young Hurley met his end through foul play?’

  ‘Decidedly. Whoever got at Pieface is guilty of his death.’

  ‘Well, I sincerely hope they find the criminal, Roy. How is your father standing all this turmoil?’

  ‘He’s better. But the double shocks we three received the same night tried him much. It has all made him feel his years.

  That dinner was wholly successful for Tom Pink amused and entertained them with quaint anecdotes of his racing life and of horses. Before they left for the show he furtively and mysteriously gave Diana a sealed envelope, and when, hours later in the privacy of her room, she opened it, she found a scrawled message which ran:—

  ‘Meet me Cathedral corner eleven tomorrow.

  It is most important. Please tell no one.’

  23

  The Police

  It was not without considerable thought that Diana decided to acquiesce in Tom Pink’s urgent request to meet him at the Cathedral corner opposite the Flinders Street station entrance, for in all the circumstances the assignation was something in the nature of an adventure.

  She was about to cross to the Cathedral corner, when Tom Pink touched her arm restrainingly.

  ‘Thank you for comin’, Miss,’ he said with particular earnestness. I’ve got to talk to you an’ ’ere’s no place. Will you come to a cafe with me? Cupper tea or somethink?’

  ‘Why, yes Tom. That is a good idea. You may take me to a nice place at the top-end of Collins Street.’

  ‘Too far, Miss. Too many people might see us walkin’ there,’ he countered quickly—and she noticed how sharply he examined each of the many people passing by. ‘There’s a little place close ’andy that would do us. You game?’

  ‘Why, yes, if you’d rather,’ she agreed, made curious by his obvious excitement which, in a measure, was communicated to her. She was escorted to one of the cheaper tea places and was pleasurably surprised to find that Pink’s manners were not slurred as was his speech. He sought her permission to select a corner table and moved a chair for her. With tea and cakes between them, he said:

  ‘I want you to lend me fifty quid. Will you?’

  ‘Well—that’s a lot of money, Mr. Pink,’ Diana murmured, remembering Roy’s account of Tom’s flirtations with John Barleycorn.

  He shrewdly guessed her thoughts, and produced a small roll of Treasury notes.

  ‘I know, Miss,’ she was told simply. ‘For weeks an’ munse I’ve been saving for a good ole beano with Jack Barnett directly after the Melbourne Cup, but things ’as ’appened to scratch that. Look—’ere’s eighteen quid of the seventy I got off n Mr. Roy, an fifty of it I didn’t spend on meself.

  ‘Now, listen. You remember the time Olary Boy got doped when I thought it was you and that foreign gent? Well, of course, I noo’ the people be’ind that was connected with the bloke calling ’isself Three of Four; who wrote to the bloke wot was to give me five quid for certain information which ’e didn’t. And I reckoned if I could get ’old of a partic’
lar bloke I once noo’, ’e might be able to give me a lead.

  ‘Yesterdee morning I ’ooked up to ’im. You see, Miss, it’s like this. My ole man was a sooner. He’d sooner do anythink crook than honest. An’ so would his pals. This bloke I wanted was one of them. I says to ’im—“I’m kinda interested in a bloke callin’ ’isself Three of Four and another bloke whose moniker is Two of Four.” ’E says—“Forget it. It ain’t a healthy interest.” I says: “My ’ealth’s gonna be orl right, don’t worry. There’s two blokes I’m wantin’ won’t feel ’ealthy when I gets me gnashers into ’em.”

  ‘’E ’urns and ’ahs for a bit, Miss. Then ’e says: “You workin’ for the D’s?” When I tells ’im I didn’t arst for no insults, he says: “Look ’ere, Tom. I remember seein’ you when you was so ’igh. I knew yor ole man, one of the straightest boys who ever lived. I don’t want to hear of you bein’ corpsed, as I will quick if you mucks about with the crowd you’re interested in, see? I’m tellin’ you nothin”.’

  ‘So I pulls out one wad and peels off nineteen quid and says: “’Ere’s fifty of the best for what you can tell me.” That fetched ’im and ’e spilled the beans, which was considerable.

  ‘But, you understand Miss, givin’ ’im that fifty makes me a bit short for what I want to do. No—wait a minute. I’m gonna get them blokes wot killed pore ole Snozzler. I know ’ow to get ’em. And I knows wot I’m up against—gents ’oo wouldn’t qualify to be no nurse-maids.’

  ‘Leave it all alone, Tom. Let it drop. Let the police manage Tom,’ Diana said earnestly.

  ‘The police! Why my ole man easy beat the police, and ’e ’ad no more brains than me or you. The police! They’re orl right for pinchin’ drunks or orderin’ ’em out of town. No, this is a little job for me to do. Mr. Roy and Mr. Cusack is as sore as I am, but I’m not saying anythink to either of ’em, and you mustn’t either. It’s to keep Mr. Roy out of it that I’ve come to you for fifty quid. I know all about ’im an’ you, Miss, an’ good luck to ’im. ’E’s a white man, ’e is, an’ I’m draggin’ ’im into no nasty corner where ’e might get a knife or a bullet, see.’

  ‘And where you might get the same, Tom.’

  ‘Unlikely, ’cos I can use meself a bit and I know me onions when it comes to crooks.’

  ‘Leave it all alone, Tom,’ Diana pleaded.

  The jockey shook his hairless head.

  ‘No, Miss. I’m gonna go for them swine wot did Olary Boy in,’ she saw his bottom lip tremble, watched the tears gather into his eyes. ‘You see, Miss, it’s like this. I’m terrible fond of ’orses. P’haps it’s becos’ I ain’t nothing to look at, and the tarts won’t look at me. A man’s got to be fond of somethink, ain’t ’e? Well, I gets fond of ’orses. And I never got no fonder of a ’orse than I did of Olary Boy. He was that cute, ’e was. And when they did ’im in, it made me terrible sore. You lend me the fifty and tell no one nothink. I’ll pay it back, straight!’

  ‘I am not at all worried about that, Mr. Pink,’ Diana hastened to assure him. ‘But to me it seems so foolish of you to risk your life among those terrible men who hesitate at nothing. As I have already said—leave it all to the police.’

  ‘It can’t be done that way, Miss,’ Tom said, grimly determined. ‘With or without that loan I’m boxin’ on.’

  ‘Very well,’ Diana sighed. ‘If you will come with me to the bank, I’ll draw the money for you.’

  ‘You will? Thanks very much, Miss. But I’d rather stay here whiles you go to the bank, gets the money an’ comes back. You see, them crooks know me by sight, some of ’em by feel, an’ it won’t go for them to see you with me.’

  ‘All right,’ Diana assented, rising. ‘I’ll not be long.’

  A quarter of an hour later she was with Tom again, and gave him the money in pound notes.

  ‘Now, remember, Miss: I’m gonna go into smoke,’ he said. ‘If Mr. Roy wants to know where I am, you lead ’im to think I got bush sick and cleared off back to Noo South. An’ do orl you can to stop ’im and Mr. Cusack from botherin’ about them Three of Fours. They’re been goin’ for years, that push, an’ they’re the toughest mob ever known by the underworld. No one knows ’oo the leader is. No one crosses ’em. So long, Miss, and many thanks. I’ll pay this money back—’

  ‘Oh—don’t think of that now, Mr. Pink. If you should want any more I’ll willingly let you have it.’

  ‘Thanks again, Miss. An’ don’t forget—say nothing to no one about me. Understand—no one!’

  ‘Not a soul, Tom.’

  ‘Good! Well, hooroo, Miss, and thank you again. I’ll stop ’ere and give you five minutes’ start.’

  She held out a daintily gloved hand which he took into his huge paw:

  ‘Good-bye, Tom, and good luck.’

  ‘Good-bye, Miss. If you appears to see any blokes walking the streets with their ears chewed orf, it’s me wot’s done it And, mum’s the word.’

  Her emotions very much mixed, Diana reached the street and crossed to the safety zone to catch her tram. In the tram she remembered having called the jockey Tom, when first she had rigidly clung to the Mr. Pink. It was ten minutes to one when she reached home.

  24

  Mother Hubbard

  The senior officer engaged in investigating the twin murders was face to face with an unscalable wall. No one could be found who had seen a man or men enter Ryrie Place, carrying a burden likely to be a human body. Hundreds of interviews took place between detectives and people whose daily business took them to Ryrie Place, without resulting in a single fact, or even a theory, as to how the dead man had been propped in the wall angle. Mortell had died as he had lived, inconspicuously; dying mysteriously after having lived mysteriously on the fringe of Melbourne’s underworld.

  As for the tragedy in Old Masters’ library, it, too, provided an amazing scarcity of clues. Not one fingerprint of Leader’s murderer was found on furniture, window glass or safe. No article had been dropped by the burglar. There had been but slight, if any, struggle—and if a struggle, no evidence remained, no sound of it had reached the butler’s ears.

  ‘It is my opinion,’ Sub-Inspector Dawson told the chief of his branch, ‘that those two allied crimes have been carried out by the push who killed the fellow who ran the inside of the dope traffic, and who issued the fake ten-pound notes three years ago. We’ve never got a line on ’em yet, and whoever is at the head of the gang is deuced clever and not known to us.’

  ‘They’ll give us a lead sooner or later, Dawson,’ was the chief’s opinion. ‘They always overstep the constable at some time. Haven’t come across those two birds who, with the bird just out of jug, were taking that jockey for a ride?’

  ‘Nary a birdseye view.’

  ‘They’re in it. I’ll lay a quid to ten bob.’

  ‘I agree. I think, too, that Old Masters hasn’t come quite clean about those ’phone calls.’

  ‘Oh—what makes you think that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. If I was a woman I’d say it was intuition. Blast! When there’s not a single line leading to anywhere it makes life damned uninteresting?’

  Life might have been a little more interesting to Sub-Inspector Dawson had he known all the facts relating to Hellburg’s two telephone calls. What he did not know also equalled in importance what he did know.

  He did not know that Old Masters’ telephone caller was known as Hellburg and that the strange cognomens of his four lieutenants ranged from One of Four to Four of Four. Not that he would have received much assistance had he known all this; but it would have been comforting, and most certainly the search for the men who tried to take Tom Pink for a ride would have been intensified.

  And now Tom Pink was touching the fringe of the genuine underworld having been admitted on probation to Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard.

  The friend to whom he had paid fifty pounds for certain information piloted a disreputable piece of human flotsam, which was Tom Pink, along an alley running parallel with a cert
ain street in an inner suburb, and after giving an elaborate system of passwords, finally conducted Tom into a large basement room, where men and women were sitting at tables, eating, drinking liquor, or playing cards.

  The air was thick with tobacco smoke. A few careless glances were passed at Tom by the over-suspicious; the rest of the motley company were confident that no stranger could possibly pass through the efficient guards. For here was a veritable thieves’ kitchen, a club where all kinds of crime were planned, where the dope wholesalers distributed snow to their runners, and where foregathered men ‘in smoke’ who, not desiring to walk abroad by day, repaired to this place to spend a convivial hour among friends.

  The presiding goddess was Mother Hubbard, who spent most of her time in a little box-like office built into one corner. As the priest is the repository of the sins of his flock, so was this woman the confidant and the banker of the underworld.

  ‘Now don’t yous forgit I’m finished,’ Pink was reminded by his conductor of the evening. ‘I’ve earnt me extra ten quid.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Larry,’ Tom said, leaving his companion at one of the tables to make his way to the ‘office’.

  It was not a large ‘office’. On a table were several little bowls containing silver and copper coins of the realm, and a small tin box containing Treasury notes. Before the table was seated a woman whose features were so debauched with cosmetics as to render any estimate of her age impossible.

  ‘Good night, Mum. A word or two with you,’ Tom said, leering down at the painted face in which two beady eyes examined him.

  ‘Well, you’re having them, ain’t you?’ she countered with a faint Irish brogue.

  ‘I bin away from Melbourne nigh five years, and then I never ’ad time to see you. I’m Tom Brown.’

  ‘Not old Tom Brown’s son? Not the little feller belonging to Tom Brown who was hanged at Pentridge?’

  ‘The same,’ Tom Pink affirmed.

  25

  Dented Three Heads