Milliners Hat Mystery E-Book

Basil Thomson

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Dans cette affaire tardive, Richardson, maintenant haut responsable du Yard, prend un siège arrière alors qu'une petite équipe de détectives commence une enquête sur le cas d'un homme assassiné non identifié, bien habillé et retrouvé dans une grange rurale.

Au début, cela semble simple; la victime, une fois identifiée, avait disparu après avoir été soupçonnée d'avoir détourné une fortune de la banque où il travaillait ; mais cela devient vite complexe, car il y avait bien plus dans l'homme assassiné qu'un simple détournement de fonds.

Leseprobe

MILLINER'S HAT

MYSTERY

Sir Basil Thomson

(1861--1939)

 First Editions, 1937

© 2021 Librorium Editions

Contents

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Chapter 21

______________

1

THE CORONER’S COURT at Oldbury was crowded, for the news had spread that the inquest about to be held was concerned with a death that was likely to prove more mysterious than any that the police had had to deal with within the memory of man. The coroner took his seat at his table and the hum of conversation was hushed. He called Leslie Griffith. A young man stood up and came forward.

“You are a clerk in the Local Government Board in London?”

“I am.”

“And on July 31st you drove your car into a barn for shelter from a violent thunderstorm.”

“Yes.”

“Were you alone in the car?”

“No, my friend Douglas Powell was with me.”

“What did you find in that barn?”

“We found the body of a man.”

“How was it lying?”

“Parallel with the left wall. I stumbled over it in getting out; in fact I fell over it. Owing to the thunderstorm it was as dark as night.”

“What did you do?”

“I picked myself up and called to my friend, and we went over together to the house opposite and explained to the owner what had happened and asked leave to use the telephone.”

“Did you telephone to the police?”

“No; Mr Howard, the owner of the house, telephoned to Dr Travers. He was afraid that in entering the barn we had knocked over his deaf gardener.”

“While you were waiting for the doctor did anyone touch the body?”

“We waited in the house until the doctor arrived and then we went back to the barn with him; we found the body lying just as we had left it.”

The coroner called Douglas Powell.

“Do you corroborate the evidence of the last witness?”

“Yes sir.”

“Were you at the wheel of your car?”

“I was.”

“Are you quite sure that you did not collide with the deceased and knock him down?”

“Quite sure. I was going at a foot’s pace and I should have felt the shock.”

Dr Henry Travers was the next witness.

“You were called by telephone to the barn in the grounds of Hatch Court? What did you find?”

“The dead body of a man aged between forty and fifty; I examined the body and found a bullet wound in the head. The body was cooling; death had occurred from three to four hours before I saw it.”

“Did you telephone to the police?”

“I did, and Inspector Miller came from Oldbury.”

“John Miller,” called the coroner, and a man in the uniform of a police inspector stood up.

“You were called by telephone to see a man who had been found shot through the head?”

“I was.”

“You concluded that he had been murdered?”

“Yes, because I found neither pistol nor rifle in the barn, nor any bullet hole in the walls or roof.”

“How do you account for the body being there?”

“It must have been brought there in a vehicle, most probably a car. The shoes were clean as if they had only just been put on.”

“Was a car seen by anyone?”

“Yes, by Peter Bury, the deaf gardener. He was sheltering from the storm in a tool shed and thought he saw a big car enter the barn. It was not until the storm was over that he found the little car belonging to Mr Powell in the barn and thought that the big one must have been a hallucination due to the lightning.”

“Has the body been identified?”

“Not yet, sir. I searched the pockets very carefully and made an inventory of everything I found in them. Besides the objects carried by smokers I found the sum of £10 16s. 9d. in notes and silver.”

“Did you notice anything of special importance in the things you found in the pockets?”

“Only that everything appeared to be brand new; even the notecase showed no sign of wear.”

“Were there no visiting cards?”

“Yes sir, quite a number with name and address complete and the telephone number in the corner.”

“Did that enable you to communicate with the deceased’s friends?”

“No sir. I telephoned to the address given on the cards, but the operator informed me that there was no such number and no such address.”

“Did you find any other document likely to help in identification?”

“Yes sir, a passport in the same name—John Whitaker.”

“The passport is being verified?”

“Yes sir, we are taking every possible step to have the body identified. My chief constable has been in telephonic communication with Scotland Yard and has asked for help. No doubt a senior officer will be detailed from the Yard to take charge of the enquiries.”

“In that case, gentlemen of the jury, I shall have no option but to adjourn the inquest until the police have had time to complete their enquiries. The inquest is adjourned. You will be notified in due course by my officer when it will be reopened.”

Inspector Miller spent a few minutes in going round among the witnesses and saying a word or two to each. As he was leaving the building a tall, good-looking man, who had been waiting by the door, stood up and addressed him.

“I must introduce myself, Mr Miller—Chief Inspector Vincent from the Yard. I was told to lose no time in coming down here and I was fortunate enough to arrive in time to hear a good part of the evidence given at the inquest.”

“I’m very glad you’ve come, Mr Vincent. You see the difficulty that I am up against. This man was shot either in some other locality or in a car— ‘taken for a ride,’ in fact, as they say in America.”

“Do you think that the man was deliberately trying to hide his identity, or that his assailants were doing that for him and for themselves?”

“So far there has been nothing to give the answer to that question. Until we know his identity it is useless to speculate about the motive for the murder.”

“May I ask what steps you have already taken for establishing his identity?”

“The usual steps—searching the list of missing persons in the police publications. I have a mass of papers at the office, which of course are at your service. My car is here.” He made a signal to the uniformed driver of his car and, though the distance to police headquarters was barely half a mile, they jumped in.

“I brought a sergeant down with me,” said Vincent. “We shall find him at your office.”

“Is he the man who usually works with you?”

“Yes. Detective-Sergeant Walker.”

“Then I feel sure that he is a live wire.”

Miller had been taking stock of his companion and had decided that he belonged to a type of detective that was new to him. To begin with, his accent was not that of the ordinary police officer. It was what, for want of a better adjective, was described as an educated accent. Miller was curious to know what had brought a man of university education into the police, but of course he could not put so personal a question to an officer of this rank. He did go so far as to ask him whether he knew Superintendent Richardson. Vincent at once rose to the bait.

“You have deprived him of a step in rank. He is now my chief constable, and he is one of the few promoted from the ranks whose promotion has given lively satisfaction throughout the whole service. I, myself, am proud to be working under him.”

They had reached the police station. Inspector Miller invited Vincent into his room where they found Sergeant Walker awaiting them.

“There, Chief Inspector, that pile of papers is for you to look through. You will find reports from a number of my officers about missing persons, but so far they have produced nothing.”

“When was the body found?”

“Only the day before yesterday—Saturday. You will see that we have wasted no time.”

“The persons I should like to see first are those two young men who found the body. Where are they to be found?”

Miller looked a little crestfallen. “The fact is, Chief Inspector, that I allowed them to continue their journey to Cornwall, after taking their addresses, of course. They promised to return on receipt of a telegram if they were wanted. You will find their statements on the top of those papers and I don’t think that they are able to give any further information. That is why I let them go.”

“Have you found any further trace of the big car which the deaf gardener thought he had seen during the thunderstorm?”

“No. He appears to have been the only man in the village who saw it and I doubt whether his evidence can be relied upon. You know the type of witness who comes forward with a story, and then when he finds that the police attach importance to it he embroiders it with all kinds of detail drawn from his imagination.”

“I know the type, but I think that he must be the first witness that I interview. The question is whether I should see him here or, less formally, on his own ground at Hatch Court. I think that Hatch Court would be best because I could make an inspection of the barn at the same time.”

“It’ll take us no time at all to get to Hatch Court if you will jump into the car again, Mr Vincent. Would you like your sergeant to come with us?”

“Yes, because he’s accustomed to taking down notes as we go. What has the owner of Hatch Court to say to the irruption of police on to his premises?”

“Mr Howard? Oh, he’s given us a free hand. We needn’t even trouble to ask for him. As long as he knows in due course what conclusion we come to, he’ll ask no questions.”

“So much the better. The only member of the staff we want to see is that deaf gardener and we can see him in the barn itself.”

They had no difficulty in finding Peter Bury— indeed, since the thunderstorm and his supposed hallucination he seemed to have been doing little more than watch the barn from some secret hiding place for some other strange occurrence. Miller beckoned to him to approach. He shambled towards the two police officers with a hesitating gait.

Vincent called him into the barn and, using his two hands as a megaphone, shouted: “I want you to take us to where you were standing when you saw that car outside the barn.” He had to repeat the question in a louder tone before intelligence dawned in the old man’s face. He touched Vincent on the arm, making a gesture towards the garden. Vincent followed him.

Arrived outside a little tool shed, the old gardener conducted his part of the conversation in dumb show, intimating that they were standing on the very spot from which he saw the car swing round into the barnyard. Then he found his voice.

“An old friend of mine once got struck by lightning and had to go all doubled up for the rest of his life. I’ve been shy of lightning ever since. That’s why I was sheltering.”

Vincent’s voice rang out: “Did—you—see—the car—go—into—the barn?”

“I saw it swing round from the lane into the yard and I said to meself: ‘You’ll never get a car as big as that into the barn, if that’s what you’re after.’ And then the lightning flashed again and I took cover.”

“And when you came out from your cover you found a little car in the barn.”

“That’s right, though how I could have made such a mistake beats me—taking a little car for a big one.”

“Thank you, Peter. If we want you again we’ll come and find you.” Turning to Miller, Vincent said: “Now let us go to the barn.”

The floor of the barn was covered deep in dust. It showed clearly the wheel marks of a small car, and Miller pointed out a shallow depression in the dust which he said had been made by the dead body and a medley of footprints all round it.

“As you see, there are no marks here of any big car having entered. These wheel marks were made by the car belonging to those two young men.”

“Yes, and of course the footprints explain themselves. Now, assuming that Peter Bury did see a big car stop outside the barn, let us reconstruct the scene. The car drew up here, but in that heavy storm all wheel marks would naturally be washed away. Peter Bury would not have seen what happened when the car stopped, but obviously two men must have been required to carry the dead body into the barn; their proceedings were masked by the car. Then what happened? The men returned to their seats, the car swung round in this direction in the act of turning to leave the yard. It was rather a sharp turn for a big car to get round without manoeuvring.” Vincent appeared to be talking to himself rather than to his companion, whom he left and walked rapidly over to the low wall of the yard. Miller could not help admiring the quickness and agility of his movements. It was as if he was on wires. He stopped at the low wall and stooped. “Yes, here we are,” he said over his shoulder; “it was too sharp a turn for a big car. Look at this streak of black. That is car varnish from one of the wings. The driver was in a hurry—he didn’t stop to back—stripped the wing clean of varnish and, no doubt, made a biggish dent in it. That will be something to go by in hunting for the car.”

“None of the servants saw a big car,” objected Miller, “and, as you see, their windows look out this way.”

“They do, but have you ever seen a house full of maids in a thunderstorm? They run to cover, preferably under a bed or in a linen closet. The storm was a stroke of luck for our murderers.”

Vincent was silent as they walked back to Miller’s car. When they had taken their seats he asked: “Have you made any enquiries at garages down the Bath Road about a car with a dinted offside wing? Garage hands notice these things.”

“Not yet,” replied Miller half apologetically. “We had so little to go upon.”

Vincent relapsed into another silence and then he said: “If the man was shot in the car there must be a bullet mark somewhere at the level of a man’s head. That theory might be worth pursuing.”

Miller was spared from answering this remark by the sight of a small car drawn up before the police headquarters.

“Hallo!” he said. “What’s this?”

He was not long left in doubt. A young man, whom Vincent recognized as having been one of the witnesses at the inquest, jumped out of the car and made a sign to Miller to pull up.

“We have something that will interest you, Inspector, and we brought it back from a garage a few miles down the road for you to see.”

“What is it?”

“A car window with what looks like a bullet hole clean through it.”

2

THE POLICE officers jumped out of their car.

"Where is this window?" asked Miller.

"We took lt into the police station and left it with your station sergeant."

Miller hurried into the building, followed by the others. Griffith constituted himself showman. The window was standing propped against the wall.

"Now you can see what a car window looks like when it's had a bullet through it."

"Yes," said Vincent. "There's been dirty work at the cross-roads. Do you see what started the fracture― that round hole with little cracks radiating from it in every direction. This is no ordinary break: that window was broken by a pistol shot. Where did you find lt?"

"At a garage about four miles down the Bath Road. Here is their card. They told us that the window came out of a sixteen-horse Daimler. Here's its number. It was quite by chance that we went into the garage at all: one of our plugs was missing fire badly and it was a case of any port in a storm. While they were changing the plug, Powell began poking about and saw this window propped up against the wall. He spotted at once that it was no ordinary break and after a little difficulty we got the garage people to let us have it for a bob."

"Did they give you a description of the driver?" asked Vincent. .

"No, because we thought that if we started questioning they might take us for detectives and shut up like oysters. We did find out that the car came in on Saturday. I would offer you a seat in our little bus if there was room and run you down to the garage."

"Thank you very much, but I weigh over twelve stone and I should prove to be the last straw for your little car. Happily Inspector Miller has a car and if you will wait until I've sent my sergeant back to London with this broken window we can start whenever you like."

"If you like to give me a seat in Inspector Miller's car I can act as your guide to the garage and let my friend follow us. It'll save time."

"It's very kind of you," said Vincent. "I'll be ready in three minutes."

He was as good as his word; in three minutes he was at the wheel and had started up the engine. As soon as they were clear of the traffic, Griffith began to talk: he was prone to conversation.

"You'll excuse my curiosity, but I don't think you can belong to the County Constabulary."

"No, I come from further afield."

"I felt sure you did: you must be from Scotland Yard. They've sent you down to take charge of the case. You must be one of the big four."

"You mean the big four of newspaper notoriety? I'm Chief Inspector Vincent."

"You're starting in this case with practically no clue at all, I gathered from the evidence at the inquest― not even the man's Identity."

"That is so."

"I've often envied you your job when I read of criminal cases in the papers; it must be an exciting kind of life."

Vincent smiled. "It's all right when there are exciting episodes, but much of the work is the dreary business of elimination."

"Elimination?"

"Yes, because we suffer from too much rather than too little help from the public. In any sensational crime letters pour in from well-meaning people, not only in this country but abroad, and one cannot afford to neglect any of them for fear that there may be a grain of wheat among the chaff. The discouraging part of the job hes in the sifting of this mass of information."

"It must require a lot of patience."

"Yes, lt does. Sometimes one gets discouraged that it is all one can do to carry on."

"The garage is only about a couple of hundred yards from here. I suppose you'd like to conduct your inquiry alone?"

"Not at all, but you will want to stop your friend when he arrives, and you might look after my car while waiting for him."

Griffith assented with a sigh and watched the lithe figure enter the garage.

Vincent asked for the foreman, who was found in a pit under a car busily engaged In examining the pinions in the gear box.

"You're wanted. Harry," a mechanic called down to him.

"Who wants me?"

"The police," and then in a hoarse whisper the youth added: "It's a blooming 'tec from Scotland Yard, so he says."

The foreman, a youth little older than his own mechanics, crawled out of his lair and faced Vincent, wiping a smear of oil from his countenance with a swab of cotton waste.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you in your work, foreman, but I want some information about that car that came in with a broken window two days ago How many men were there in the car?"

"Two, I think it was it was two, wasn't it, Charlie?

"Yes: there was the fellow with his arm in a sling, and the other bloke that kept looking at his watch."

"Did they say where they were going?"

"Oh, they made no secret about that. They said they were going to Newquay."

Having gleaned all possible Information from the garage. Vincent returned to his car. He found that Griffith's companion had arrived in his tiny overloaded conveyance and the two young men were talking

"Ah, here comes the chief inspector," said Griffith. "Now we shall be free to go on."

"Your discovery is going to prove very useful to me," said Vincent. "I found out that those two men were bound for Newquay, and I must go on there, although they've had two days' start of me."

"We are bound for the west coast, too: we are going to Bude, which is not so very far away from Newquay, but you will travel much faster than we do and I suppose we must say good-bye."

"I'm afraid so. You will understand that I've no time to lose. Thank you once more for your help."

His first concern on arriving at Newquay Was to make a round of the hotel garages In search of the car which had changed its broken window. He tried every hotel garage without success and then visited those which advertised the fact that they carried out repairs. In one of these, inconveniently situ-ated In a narrow side street, he found what be was looking for a sixteen-horse Daimler, with the number given by the garage in the Bath Road. It had a deep dint and scrape on the off-side wing, exposing the metal. Vincent called the foreman.

"Who left this car here?" he asked.

The man was inclined to be jocular. "That would be telling," he said. "You've heard of the proverb. 'Ask no questions and they'll tell you no lies.' "

"Come," said Vincent, "I can't waste time bandying proverbs. I'm here to ask questions and you're here to answer them truthfully." He produced his official card, and the young foreman stiffened with apprehension. "Now, perhaps you'll answer. Who left this car here?"

"Two gents who said they were leaving on a sea trip and would call for it when they came back. Is there anything wrong about them?"

"You can ask that question again when I've looked over the car."

The man stood back while Vincent made an examination of the seats and cushions of the interior. He was using a small square of damp blotting-paper to soak up what he thought might be bloodstains, when the foreman, who was watching him keenly, interposed with a question:

"What are you looking for, sir?" he said.

"For bloodstains."

"Funny you should say that. The gent who left the car was fussing about the saintthing. Very fussy he was, using a sponge and cotton waste to get it all off. He said there was nothing that damaged the fabric of the leather more than blood if it was allowed to dry on. It was his own blood, he said, from his elbow when he banged it through the window. It must have been a mighty bang to break triplex glass. He said that that was why he had his arm in a sling."

"What did they look like?" asked Vincent.

"Oh, one was a big, heavy man, between thirty and forty, and the other a tall thin chap, a bit older."

"Well, I want you to put this car asidcand not let anyone touch her-not even the owner― if he turns up again― without letting me know. I shall be at the Raven Hotel and I'll come down at once if you ring up. You can't lock it up because, I suppose, the owner has the key, but you can stop any of your mechannics irom interfering with it.'

"Very good, slr; you can trust me to sec that your orders are carried out."

While speaking Vincent had been trying to open the box at the rear of the car, which was locked.

"Do you want to get that open, sir?"

"Yes, but I suppose the owner has that key also."

"I daresay that I could manage to open it."

"What?" asked Vincent. "Have you fellows got duplicate keys for the boxes oí every kind of car?"

The foreman laughed. "No, sir, lt's not as bad as that, but I served my apprenticeship with one of the firms that supply car manufacturers with these boxes and I've still got the tools for making both locks and keys. You needn't worry about my doing any damage: I'll open it all right and lock it up again."

"Very good, foreman; I'll be back again In about half an hour."

VINCENT NOW decided to make inquiries at the quay. There he found the usual knot of fishermen and loafers in nautical costume.

"I hear you had a motor launch in here on Saturday and it picked up two men and went away with them."

A mariner nodded sourly without removing his pipe from the corner of his mouth, but chatterbox hastened to fill the breach.

"I saw those two gents; one of them had his arm in a sling. They kept asking us whether we'd seen their motor boat come in and go out again. I told them that it had been in, hanging about the best part of the day, and had then gone out again That's right, isn't it, mates?" The rest nodded their assent. "I can tell you that the two gents were in a fine taking when they heard that she'd been in and gone out again― friends of the skipper, I suppose they were."

"But she did come In again?" asked Vincent.

"Yes, she did, and a bloke was standing up, sweeping the quay with his glasses. When he made out the two gents waving to him he brought the launch up to the steps, keeping the engine running. He hardly waited for them to step aboard, but pushed off and went full speed ahead."

"Do you know which way they went when they'd cleared the harbor?"

"No, one can't see that from here, but when the two gents were stepping aboard I heard the skipper say: 'Hurry up, Rupert, there's a southerly gale springing up, and if you're not nippy you'll be seasick like you were last time.'  So I suppose she was bound for somewhere lying south-west of us."

"What kind of a boat was she?"

"Oh, she was a smart looking craft, as fresh as paint could make her and big enough for any kind of sea."

"How many hands had she?"

"I only saw a boy besides the skipper, but the cabin looked as If there was accommodation for six at least."

"H'm! Quite a big boat," said Vincent, musing. "Anyway she could cross the Channel all right. Had she a name painted on her?"

"No, now I come to think of it she'd no name at all. That's funny. A craft like that generally has some fancy kind of name like Sunbeam painted all over her, but this one had nothing at all."

The taciturn smoker removed his pipe from his mouth, spat Into the sea and spoke for the first time. "Shouldn't be surprised if there was something crooked about that boat― smuggling or something like that. The boy was a Frenchy― I heard him talking the lingo that those onion boys talk."

"And the skipper? Did he talk French, too?"

"When he spoke to the boy he did, but not when he took those two coves on board: then he spoke English all right, but it sounded funny."

"Thank you," said Vincent. "I think that must be the boat I wanted. I'm sorry they left before I got here."

Having finished his inquiries at the quay, Vincent returned to the garage. He found that the foreman had been as good as his word. He was obviously pleased with himself at having been able to exhibit his skill to a senior officer from the Yard.

"IT was a job I can tell you, sir. I had to wait until the mechanics had knocked off work and gone home before I started on the key, but I managed it all right." He slid back the catches and raised the lid of the box. "There you are, slr, nothing in it but an old overcoat."

"Let me have a look at the coat."

It was a stout cold-resisting overcoat, evidently made by a good tailor.

Vincent went rapidly through the pockets, but found nothing in them but crumbs of tobacco. He breathed more easily when he found an outfitter's label sewn under the tab of the collar.

"I'm going to take this car away with me, foreman, because it will be required as evidence in a murder case."

"But suppose the owner comes back and asks for it, what am I to tell him?"

"I don't think he will come back, but if he does you must ring up the Newquay police. I'm going on to leave the car with them."

"Very good, sir. Youll find her in good running order. The young lady at the desk will tell you what there is to pay."

Vincent made for the window where the lady sat enthroned behind her spectacles, with a ledger before her. The bill was quite moderate, but when Vincent made known his intention to carry off the car, she demurred.

"You see," she explained. "I gave the gentleman who left her here a receipt and if he comes back and finds his car gone, well..."

"You think he might make himself unpleasant."

"I won't say that. He seemed a nice well-mannered gentleman, but he might threaten an action at law, li you know what I mean."

"You mean that If you let her go out after giving a receipt for her, you might lose your situation?"

"Well, Mr. Lutyens is a funny sort of gentleman: he might think that I was right, but he's just as likely to find fault and tell me that I ought to have rung him up before I let the car go. If you'll stop a minute I'll get on to him."

Vincent stopped a minute; the minute multiplied Itself by five before the operator assured the speaker that there was no answer to her call.

Hearing this Vincent declared his intention of driving the car to the police station and invited the lady to ring up the Newquay police to prepare them. On this she removed her ban and the car was driven out.

In consequence of this telephone message Vincent found the station sergeant waiting for him on the steps of the police station. To him Vincent explained the position. An inspector was called out and the car was formally handed over to be kept by the police until the Chief Constable received a communication from New Scotland Yard.

"Have you no clue at all to the identity of the murdered man?" asked the inspector.

"Five minutes ago I should have answered your question in the negative, but I have now one clue― a London tailor's name in the collar of an overcoat― Mendel, in Sackville Street. Luckily the manager of that firm is a personal friend of mine."

"I suppose you'll be going back to LonLondon to-morrow?"

"Yes, and I shall be starting at a godless hour In the morning. I have another car on my hands, a car lent to me by the Berkshire police, and as I've never learned to drive two cars at the same time I've got to leave this one with you."

Vincent returned to his hotel on foot. He spent the evening after dinner In marshalling his knowledge of shot wounds from cases in which he had helped police surgeons In their examinations of bodies that had met their deaths from revolver shots. He knew that there must have been at least two men in the car besides the murdered man, since the body had been lifted and not dragged Into the barn. It was the body of a heavy man.

How had they been sitting? That was easy to determine. He had examined the body. There were two orifices in the head― one on the right side which was obviously the orifice of entrance, because its edges were torn and lacerated and blackened as if they had been burned by the heat and flame of the explosion. The orifice of exit on the left side was larger with its skin edges turned outward, and it was from this side of the car that the broken window had been taken, so the murdered man must have been sitting on the back seat of the car and his assailant must have been sitting beside him. The seat beside the driver might have been vacant. There was nothing to show this one way or the other. According to gangster phraseology, therefore, the victim must have been "taken for a ride."

But was suicide to be ruled out? A suicide practically always directs his weapon at what he knows to be a vital spot― the head or the heart― because he wishes to die swiftly and with the least possible suffering after the wound is Inflicted. The pistol is either dropped or, in one case that he remembered when he was a Junior patrol in Soho, still grasped in the hand. But even if the pistol had been fired by the victim himself holding lt In his right hand and pulling the trigger with his forefinger, the bullet would have had an upward tendency and the glass window would not have been shattered at the same horizontal level as the victim's head. All these facts went to show it was a case of murder and not suicide

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