From the location of portions of the dismembered body it was apparent that the author had planned to carry the evidences of the crime away and sink them in the waters of the ocean, which tumbled and rolled on the rocks at the base of the steep cliff that marked the extremity7 of Thirty-third Avenue. A potato sack, with the torso, was found near the rear door to the cottage, indicating that whoever had committed the deed had probably been interrupted while carrying the remains8 to the bay; and had then fled.
A kitchen butcher knife was the weapon used. Robbery was evidently the motive9, for the hut had been ransacked10 thoroughly11, such poor and mean[Pg 264] trinkets as the recluse12 was known to possess having been taken.
Mrs. Stockslager did a small business in sandwiches, pop corn and soda13 water with the picknickers. The rumours14 of a miser’s hoard15 that usually attached to such as she had long been current. But whether the slayer16 or slayers realised a profit in money could not be determined17 as there was no one who could be found sufficiently18 familiar with her life to say whether she did or did not have a store of money on the premises19.
Such were the general facts which Sampson, city editor of the Enquirer20, skeletonised tersely22 to Lanagan as that police reporter of superior talents reported for duty after a lapse23 of more than ordinary duration.
“Hop to it, Jack24,” added Sampson. “You’ve had your salary for two weeks. Show your appreciation25.”
Those were the days before automobiles26 might be requisitioned—occasionally—for big assignments, and Lanagan, taking the steam line that in those days twisted around the ocean shore, was considerably27 later than the coroner’s deputies, who had already discharged their functions and now were engaged in making an impromptu28 meal upon the old woman’s supply of sandwiches, the only loot available.
Phillips and Castle, special duty men from the Golden Gate Park police station, were also on the[Pg 265] scene. The “upper office” at headquarters is recruited—where it is not recruited by politics or favouritism—by these active young officers on special duty at the outside stations, and Lanagan knew that this particular brace29 of plain-clothes men were hardworking and ambitious and without the “strings” that many times bring the ablest of upper office men a trifle too considerately into touch with the outlaw30 clans31.
“What do you make of it, Phillips?” asked Lanagan, as the officer placed his note-book in his pocket.
“Wouldn’t call it a suicide, exactly,” replied Phillips, offishly.
Lanagan laughed. “No?” he drawled. “I wouldn’t put it past you to call it natural causes, though.”
Phillips flushed to the base of his thick neck but held himself from answering. He knew Lanagan by reputation and did not care to match wits with him. Lanagan worked with most of the “upper office” men on intimate terms, but found it occasionally necessary to put a “crimp” in the arrogance32, or ignorance, of the outside station officers, who do not come into contact with newspaper men as frequently as the down town men and at times elect to affect the same impartiality33 with which they treat ordinary persons. Such Lanagan took pride in bringing to a proper appreciation of the honourable34 place occupied by the brothers of the Tribe.
Lanagan ignored the two detectives and gave his[Pg 266] attention to the coroner’s deputies, the cottage and outskirts35, and the contents of the wicker basket. Before the next train arrived, bringing a dozen reporters and camera men from the other papers, and myself, Lanagan had finished his investigations36. I found him seated on a salt grass hummock37, smoking and gazing absently up and down the ragged38, rocky shore line. The surf was tumbling heavily although a few hundred yards out the sea was an undulating swell39 of greenish beauty.
“Some fine day,” was his greeting. “Let’s take a stroll down.”
We made our way down the cliff to the rocks at the water’s edge.
“Imagination is oftentimes a great thing in solving crime,” he remarked, as he poised40 himself perilously41 on a slippery rock and relit his cigar. “That and the ‘take a chance’ instinct. Call it a hunch42, bull-luck, accident, or as one great French detective said, ‘le grand hasard.’ Beautiful picture, is it not?”
He pointed43 toward the Heads, where a Pacific Mail steamship44 was just putting her pilot down the side. She made a fine picture in truth, with her clean, lithe45 lines and her smoke blowing back like the wind-blown tresses of a girl.
We strolled along the intermittent46 stretches of sandy beach or clambered over the rocks and it finally struck me that Lanagan’s ferret eyes were not at all absent-minded or entirely47 busied with the[Pg 267] natural beauties of the scene, but that he was examining closely every square inch of the ground we travelled; and the waters as we passed.
“Phillips is rather cagey,” he remarked. “He’ll have to be taught his place. He’s a good officer, though; and Leslie has his eye on him. We must look out for that chap. He not only has good legs, a prime requisite48 of a detective or a reporter, but he has a head that really works once in a while.”
He sat down finally under the shelter of a great rock and motioned me to do likewise. Then he pulled from his pocket, carefully tucked away, a V-shaped piece of paper written over with Chinese characters. The corner that made the apex49 of the V was crinkled.
“What do you make of it?”
“It’s a piece of a Chinese newspaper,” I replied.
“Really! You would do credit to Phillips. Examine it this time.”
I tried again, but could make nothing of it.
“Look.”
He uncrumpled the slight crinkling at the apex and a tiny bit of red paper was exposed. I was ashamed of my own lack of observation; but just as puzzled as before and said so.
“I should say,” said Lanagan, “that this paper with the Chinese characters was a piece of wrapping paper; that someone tore it from a package with his finger nails and that a portion of the red wrapper of the package itself, came off in his finger[Pg 268] nails. See?” He crumpled50 it up and sure enough it fitted neatly51 into the space under his finger nail.
“Well?” I asked, vaguely52. Then I had an inspiration. The Chinese burial ground was only an eighth of a mile away. Lanagan obviously had some theory connecting Chinese with the crime, the bit of paper evidently having dropped from a Chinaman’s blouse. I told him so. He laughed immoderately but indulgently and carefully put the bit of paper away in his pocket.
“You’re a stem-winder when it comes to writing fancy leads for my police stories,” he said, still chuckling53, “but I guess I’ll have to give up for keeps trying to make a detective out of you. I have shown you in perspective as it were, during the past twenty minutes, the solution of this entire crime—if my theory is not altogether wrong—and you can’t see it. Let’s get busy. Your legs can at least be of service to me.
“I want you to stick around here for a couple of hours. Tackle everybody in sight for a knowledge of Mrs. Stockslager; how long she has been out here, her past, who her family are if any, who her visitors have been; if she had any particular idiosyncrasies or hobbies. Take in all the houses within a radius55 of a mile—there are only four or five—and try to get some kind of a line on her. Don’t overlook the small boy. In out-of-the-way regions like this he is the pioneer of civilisation56 and you may tumble on to more through some roving[Pg 269] urchin57 than all the grown-ups in the county. I will leave instructions at the office where to meet me later. I anticipate lively entertainment ahead.”
When we got back to the cottage the coroner’s deputies had gone, as had Phillips and Castle. Camera men were taking the house from many angles; artists were busy sketching58 the interior—that was the heyday59 of “yellow journalism”—marking the “spot” with the old familiar cross. Reporters were still cluttering60 around. A crowd of morbid61 persons, attracted out of the very sky like vultures, were already gathered.
“Suppose you’ve got it all cleared?” remarked Bradley of the Times to Lanagan. He was Lanagan’s nearest approach to a rival as a police reporter.
“Clear as print can make it,” replied Lanagan as he turned for the train.
He ran for the car, leaving Bradley secretly uneasy. He had a wholesome62 regard for Lanagan and knew that he was of few words and not given to wasting them. I slipped the rest of the newspaper men and tramped the sandhills “covering” all the houses, “buzzing” an occasional small boy. The best I could get for two hours’ hard work—and the first “tip” came from an unwashed, sling-shooting young American—was a vague story that no one could substantiate64, that Mrs. Stockslager had a worthless son who infrequently visited her for money. I hugged this information close until[Pg 270] I could see Lanagan. It so happened he ordered me to keep it quiet for that day, giving no reasons.
I was chagrined65 the next morning to awaken66 and find that Bradley had the same piece of information and had “flashed” it on the front page for an exclusive double-leaded feature to his story.
The search then turned to the son. He could be traced to within six or seven months of the murder. I had to lumber67 along as best I could in handling the story without Lanagan’s assistance. The stories in all of the papers became monotonously68 uniform. On the third day the interest was thinning. There had not been a single new fact discovered; nor, so far as the Enquirer was concerned, had there been a word from Lanagan.
“He must have something,” Sampson said to me irritably70 on the third day. “But take a flier through his hangouts on the chance that he might have gone off again.”
I shook my head. “That isn’t Lanagan with a story on,” I said. “He does his drinking when the story is turned in.” Nevertheless I took a quick skirmish to Connor’s, Fogarty’s and “Red” Murphy’s; looked up “Kid” Monahan and some of Lanagan’s intimates in the upper office. I could find no trace of him.
Toward evening I dropped back to the Enquirer after a final round-up of the ends of the story at police headquarters, and there Lanagan sat with his heels on Sampson’s desk, with that pulseless individual[Pg 271] shooting questions at him with the speed and precision of an automatic revolver.
“I’ve given you all I am free to give just now,” said Lanagan, shutting down on the questioning. “You’ve got a good enough scoop71 to hold the story for to-morrow. Let me handle the rest in my own way, will you?” He was nettled72. “Don’t be so didactic. Do you think I’ve been spending the last three days with a dry nurse?” He was the only man on the Enquirer who could take that tone with Sampson and hold his job.
“No. I know you’ve been on your toes hard, Jack, and I appreciate it. Only the news-call gets the best of me and this story has us all on edge,” replied Sampson.
“You’re not to go near the prison,” continued Lanagan. “I need Norton to-night. Let Martin write the story from here. Stockslager is absolutely out of it. He has been a trusty at the city prison for about six months, which clears him up. Name he goes under is ‘Swede’ Stockley. The police have known it all along but they have kept it dark for certain reasons which I am not at liberty now to state.
“Lend me that nice, new mackintosh of yours, Sampson. It’s raining like blazes and the enthusiastic Mr. Norton and myself will have a hard stand to-night. Take your raincoat, Norton. We are going out looking for ghosts around the Stockslager cottage. There’s a real ghost of the old lady[Pg 272] out there and I’ve wanted for a long time to have a run-in with a genuine spook. She was seen on the cliff last night as the train stopped. McCluskey, the conductor, thought he heard a sort of moaning. He’s a pretty nervy chap and the moans, coming it seemed from the hut, didn’t scare him much. He walked over that way and silhouetted73 at the edge of the cliff he swears he saw the old lady herself. It was too much even for McCluskey and he ran back to the train.
“He and the engineer, Roberts, went back with a couple of crowbars although he didn’t say what good crowbars would do in tackling a bonafide ghost. They just got one glimpse of the thing and it disappeared and they both swear it couldn’t have had time to get any place before they reached the scene. It was a fairly clear night, during a break in the storm, and they wasted five minutes and then went back to their train.
“I was out there to-day and McCluskey told me the yarn74. They’ve kept it quiet around the car barn for fear of being ridiculed75. I have them pledged to secrecy76. Don’t use that angle of the story to-morrow, though, as I want to do some ghost hunting before the whole town hears about it and flocks out there.
“Come on, Norrie. Got your gun?”
That ghost talk gave me all sorts of forebodings. With a black night ahead and a driving rain, ghost hunting on the scene of the murder, in an environment[Pg 273] sufficiently forbidding on a wintry night in any event, failed to stir me to any particular height of enthusiasm.
“Fire ahead,” said Sampson, with one of his mirthless grins. But he was sitting comfortably in a steam-heated office.
It was nine o’clock when we boarded the steam cars at the old Central Avenue terminal. McCluskey was a solid-jawed, sensible, self-reliant looking chap. It puzzled me. A sober, steady man like that must have seen something very convincing before sponsoring talk of ghosts.
“Ghost hunting?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Lanagan. “Good feature story, this ghost stuff. Keep it quiet for a day or two longer, will you?”
“Sure. I’ll be on the watch for the Enquirer to see about it. Looked for it to-night, but didn’t see it.”
He slowed down for us about an eighth of a mile from the Thirty-third Avenue stop and we dropped off into a bitter rain.
That rain would have quenched77 the tail fires of hell.
We struggled on, heads down. There was no use in trying to talk and I knew Lanagan would take his own time about giving me any information. We suddenly pulled stiffly up against two bulky, raincoated figures. A dark lantern flashed, first in my face, then in Lanagan’s.
[Pg 274]“Well, well!” It was Lanagan’s ready voice, pitched a trifle high on account of the beating rain. “If it isn’t Messrs. Phillips and Castle! Walking to reduce weight, I presume?”
“What are you fellows doing out here?” asked Phillips, gruffly.
“Well, Phillips, seeing that it’s you, I’ll tell you: It’s none of your business. Maybe we’re going to swim to the Farallones. Do you understand me perfectly78?”
“Isn’t it? We’ll see. And I don’t know whether we want you snuffing around here or not,” replied Phillips. He was a choleric79 man, was Phillips, with a neck too thick even for a policeman. I thought for a moment Lanagan would have us both ordered back, but he only laughed, in that mocking, Machiavelian laugh of his that could rasp like a file on a sore tooth.
“Dear me,” he said, “your mood fits the weather, Phillips; very disagreeable. I am not concerned with your wants. I’m going to snuff to my heart’s content. Now please step off the right of way and permit us to pass. We are both citizens of this great and glorious city that overpays you most disgracefully in proportion to your attainments80; and as such citizens our powers and privileges on the county domain81 are precisely82 as full and complete as yours. Phillips, you’ll never do. No policeman ever succeeds who begins by antagonising newspaper men. I’m telling you, you won’t do. Step[Pg 275] aside, please. We want to go on and we don’t purpose to walk around you to do it.”
For a moment things looked ugly, with Phillips standing83 fast. Castle took him by the arm.
“Come on, Tom, you’re wrong,” he said, and the two officers stepped to one side and we passed on, with Lanagan chuckling aloud.
“Ghost hunting is becoming a regular fad,” he said finally. “And I shouldn’t be surprised to find a few more hunters scattered84 around. We will let Phillips and Castle pass.”
We stepped quickly to one side and sank down behind a hillock of very wet and very cold sand. Lanagan was correct. The two detectives had turned and followed us. They went on ahead, having missed us.
It was shivery. Here were four men, two trailing two others who assumed they were the trailers; and all bound for a murder house on a black night to hunt ghosts: for it was safe to assume that in some fashion Phillips and Castle had heard the ghost episode. Did we but know it at the time, we were in turn being trailed by two keen eyed, storm-coated men, each of whom kept a ready hand in his overcoat pocket.
For, as Phillips and Castle disappeared on ahead and we were just stepping back to the railroad tracks from our place of concealment85, Lanagan suddenly bore back and dropped. I followed suit.
“More ghost hunters,” he whispered in my ear,[Pg 276] pointing. Two blurred86, indistinct figures passed along the right of way. It was awesome87. But Lanagan gave me no time for questions. Stooping low, threshing softly through the dripping salt grass, in and out among the sand dunes88, we worked our way gradually toward the cliffs along the ocean. The coat fairly well protected my body, but my shoes were soaked and I was drenched89 with the cold, numbing90 rain to my knees.
In a position I should judge about twenty yards from the point where the path from the Stockslager path led over the cliff to the rocks below, we crouched91 against a hummock. The ocean roared beneath us and the white froth of the breakers, tumbling on the rocks, could be faintly seen. Each time it would flash into the corner of my eye, I thought it was ghost time. I don’t believe in ghosts, of course; but, under such circumstances, one can’t help wondering a little bit. From behind us, as we lay there, once, twice, thrice, four times we heard the toot, toot of the train; and I knew that we had lain there for two mortal hours, because the train made hourly round trips.
I thought of Sampson and his snug92 office and his snug salary; and I compared myself, taking the chances of anything from a pistol ball to pneumonia93 for my thirty dollars a week. I concluded to quit the business at the end of this scrape. But I always determined to do that under such circumstances. So does every newspaper man; and they always[Pg 277] show up for work the next day. Were we not at least potential paranoiacs we wouldn’t be newspaper men. Certainly otherwise we wouldn’t do the things we do for the pay we get. Regarding newspaper photographers, there is no question. They are all crazy; except one.
We had drunk the last drop from the healthy flask94 apiece we had brought and I was settling back in soggy misery95 for more suffering, my eyes so blurred with watching and staring that I could see slinking forms in fancy every place I turned, when Lanagan’s lean hand clutched my leg. He had taken a position lower and nearer the path than I and could get a dim perspective of the edge of the cliff just where the path descended96.
I peered ahead. Faintly I could see a single figure, outlined in blurred relief and then it disappeared, apparently97 into thin air. Whether it was man or woman I could not have told. That it disappeared before my eyes I knew.
It gave one a creepy feeling. I was about to speak to Lanagan but his warning pressure was still on my calf98. Probably thirty minutes passed, or it may have been only three. Another figure came into view; and then another, and disappeared.
Then I realised that the first figure had simply slipped down the path and out of sight. I wondered if something of the sort hadn’t happened when McCluskey was ghost hunting.
Still Lanagan held that vice-like clutch on me.[Pg 278] Another prolonged interval99. Two more figures bulked into view and disappeared. Many more minutes passed and Lanagan said no word. The wind during the hours had died away, but the rain continued, pelting100 now straight down. Lanagan’s hand finally loosened itself from my leg. He pointed over the ocean toward the intermittent flashes of the lighthouse at Land’s End. Between the Land’s End and Fort Point lights could be seen—the lights of a vessel101.
“She’s a day overdue102 on account of the storm,” Lanagan shot up at me. “She’s heading through the Golden Gate now. We’ll have some fun shortly, I reckon.”
He straightened up and stretched himself and I did likewise, threshing my arms to start the blood into circulation. I was cold, cramped103 and grouchy104.
“Jack,” I said impatiently, “cut out this mystery stuff and give me the facts. You’ve got me neck and neck with pneumonia now. Kick through with this story, whatever it is, or I’m going to tear down that cliff after those fellows and start something if only to keep warm.”
Of course he only laughed. The man must have been made of chilled steel.
“Easy, Norrie. Think of the ten cents’ carfare you can charge up on this assignment. That ought to be some compensation, that and the glory of the thing, even if you do get sciatica or lumbago or some other old woman’s complaint. Norrie, sometimes[Pg 279] you make me weary. Here I’m staging one of the finest climaxes105 you have ever participated in. I have adopted a true Shakespearean method of suiting the natural surroundings to the action. It’s rather an epic106 situation, in my opinion.
“Now that liner—it was the Mail boat Hongkong—has finally passed inside the gate. Any minute something may happen, and I pick you out of the entire staff to be here when it does happen; here in an elemental atmosphere where human lives may be snuffed out as we snuffed out the contents of those flasks107, and still you’re not satisfied. It’s a big, vital, gripping situation. Where’s your imagination?”
“Oh, hell. You’re drunk. Let’s chase down after those men. Let’s do something to start things, whatever they may be. I’m cold.”
Lanagan was genuinely put out with me. Later I knew why. He had been hanging around those bleak108 cliffs for two nights and skulking109 in the sand dunes for two days watching the Stockslager hut. No wonder I was a “quitter” by comparison. He whirled on me and I saw his eyes flashing with that curious light that I had seen in them on rare occasions when he was thoroughly aroused.
“You either quit whining110 or beat it back to town.”
If he had struck me in the face it couldn’t have affected111 me differently, such was the magnetism112 of that remarkable113 man.
[Pg 280]“I beg your pardon, Jack. I didn’t mean to rough you,” I said, and he was his natural self in a moment, too.
“All right. Forget it. Let’s take a peek114 over the cliff.” We crawled to the edge of the path. Lanagan was ahead. He was on his feet with a leap the instant he struck the ledge54, and I up beside him.
“Ha!” he shouted. “They’re at it! Now we’ll see! Now we’ll see! Le grand hasard!”
Far down below I saw a half a dozen flares115 in the darkness; smattered, smeared116 flares of yellowish light and then all was blackness again. There came no report from weapons, the roaring of the surf drowning that. More by instinct than anything else to be on the scene of action, I made a quick step toward the path. Lanagan’s hand was on my arm.
“Wait,” he said, curtly117. “This is no funeral of ours. Wait.”
He knelt down, arching his hands around his eyes and peering long and intently.
“Revenue officers,” he said. “We can’t monkey with them. Haven’t got them on my staff like Leslie and his men. They’ll be up.”
Revenue officers! A light began to dawn upon me.
The toot, toot of the engine came.
“Beat it, Norrie! Hold that train,” ordered Lanagan. “There may be some wounded here to rush to town. Quick!”
“On the floor they placed the figure they bore, a stalwart figure of a man.”
[Pg 281]I was already off on the run past the Stockslager hut to the little platform where the train stopped. It was some distance away around the curve. As I stood there, with the rain pattering a monotonous69 tattoo118 on the planking, there came a sudden groan119, a drawn-out, rasping groan, and I whirled toward the house; my body one quiver of gooseflesh. It came again, from up toward the roof; and as it came there was a breathing of light wind across my face. I laughed aloud; but nervously120. Another light puff121 of wind, another long-drawn groan—loose shingles122, or a loose piece of clapboarding, giving, evidently, just the slightest against a nail. The other end of the ghost mystery was cleared.
The train pulled in. I told McCluskey there had been a shooting, and to hold the train.
“Can’t back her in. We’ll run out to the first switch!” he cried, as he jumped into the cab with the engineer.
I ran back to find four men bearing a form between them. Lanagan was alongside the leader of the four, talking swiftly. They kicked in the door of the hut and made a light. On the floor, littered just as it had been littered the Sunday morning of the murder discovery, they placed the figure they bore, a stalwart figure of a man. A leg and an arm, I could see, were useless. They felt of his arm and leg and he never winced123, staring straight at the ceiling. They ripped away his oilskin coat, his over-shirt and undershirt. He had a bullet just over the[Pg 282] heart, a deep wound and one that bled inwardly, for no blood oozed124 out.
Two of the four men had deposited on the floor bulky bundles wrapped in rubber, around which double pairs of life preservers were strapped125.
He who seemed to be the leader of the four (“Marshall, chief revenue inspector126,” Lanagan whispered to me), took the man’s pulse after the examination was ended. No one had spoken. In the faces of all, as far as I could detect in the murky128 light of the smoky chimney of an oil lamp, was a set, grim look; not the look that officers usually wear when there has been a killing129 or a successful capture in a crime.
Marshall straightened up. He said, solemnly:
“Billy, I think you are going. What have you got to say? Any message?”
“No, Jim,” said the man on the floor, weakly. “You got me right. I went into the thing with my eyes open. Only don’t ask me to squeal130 on the others. I got what I deserved, I guess. I’ve brought shame to the service and I’m ready to pass. Thank God, thank God,” he burst out with sudden choking, “the wife is not here—passed out last year, you know; and there never were any kiddies. No one to suffer but you boys that I’ve disgraced.”
A tear rolled from his eyes to the floor.
“Can I say a word to him, Marshall?” It was Lanagan who spoke127. The other men had bowed their heads. On one or two faces I could[Pg 283] see a tear, for all the wetness that the rain had left there.
“Enright,” said Lanagan, kneeling down beside the stricken man, “you know you are passing. Make a clean breast. Who killed Mrs. Stockslager?”
His eyes closed and he seemed to shrink as though trying to hug the floor he was lying upon. “Whisky!” came Lanagan’s sharp whisper. Unconsciously he was taking command of the situation, asserting his natural leadership as he always did in tense moments. Marshall passed him a pocket flask and he forced a sip131 to Enright’s lips, holding his head up with his left arm. The eyes opened.
“I did.”
“Oh, God, Billy! No, no! Not that, not that!” It was Marshall. He broke down and sobbed132 like a boy. Twenty-five years he had been in the federal blue with Billy Enright, one in the revenue, the other in the customs service.
“Yes—I did! Jim, get me a priest! Don’t let me die like this! For old time’s sake, Jim!”
The train was whistling on its return.
“We’re taking you right in,” said Lanagan, soothingly133. “We’ll have a priest for you. Why did you kill her?”
Enright motioned for the flask with his free arm. Lanagan gave him a long pull. For a time at least his voice was stronger.
[Pg 284]“She was threatening to tip off the gang. She used to work with us. She was well paid. She didn’t know I was in the service. She found it out some way. I came out one day to talk over with her about her threats. I’d been drinking, worrying over fear of exposure. She wouldn’t listen to reason. She was a wolf. She goaded134 me crazy, I guess. She taunted135 me about being a traitor136 to the country I served. Well, I lost my head. I grabbed the butcher knife and killed her. So help me God as I am about to die, that’s the truth.”
The eyes closed for a space, and then he continued:
“I stuck a few things in my pockets to make it look like robbery. Then I started to cut up the body to pack it in a sack and bury it or drop it off the cliff. I weakened and dropped it outside the door and ran. It was dark but I ran for miles around over the sandhills and it seemed she was always right after me. It was awful.
“I got my wits back later. I saw the police and the papers were after the son. I felt easier. There was a big shipment coming in on the Hongkong—$40,000 all told. No one would come out here and take a chance landing it. Afraid the police were watching the house. I volunteered. I figured if any one saw me nosing around I could give them the inspector talk. I hung around last night but the ship was held away out on account of the storm.[Pg 285] I had to come out—again—to-night—that’s all, boys—”
The door flung open and through it came Phillips and Castle. McCluskey and Roberts followed. The train had stopped unnoticed, so tense was the interest within the hut in the dying man’s recital137.
“Quick, take him up,” said Lanagan. They stooped to lift him.
“Here, what’s all this?” It was Phillips.
“Stand aside!” came Marshall’s blunt command. It was obeyed. Enright’s eyes had closed. He was made as comfortable as possible with cushions on the train, as that ancient rattle-trap strained and tugged138 to make the greatest speed of its history. Enright’s eyes did not open on the trip in.
They never opened again.
Lanagan filled in for me the details of the story. The bit of red paper, crinkled inside the paper with the Chinese characters, meant but one thing: opium139. Here was where his wide acquaintance with the underworld and Chinatown, the customs service and the water front, aided him.
Puzzling over the presence of an opium wrapping in that isolated140 hut Lanagan had seated himself upon the salt grass hummock to smoke. Into his field of vision steamed the Pacific Mail liner—and his “hunch” came with it. His examination of the shore followed to locate a cove63 that would give a[Pg 286] safe place to float the opium to land from a launch or white hall boat by day or night. Such a cove he had found, where the waters for a sixteenth of a mile deposited their driftwood. His theory was complete. The hut was a smuggler’s runway; the woman was in the ring and for a breach141 of faith had been slain142, an attempt being made to have it appear she was slain by robbers.
That Marshall and his men had been preparing to close in on the gang that made the cabin their rendezvous143 Lanagan did not know until the night before.
“Then I found the whole map out here sprinkled with them. Recognised Marshall, who nearly tumbled over me; but he probably figured I was one of his men, and said nothing.
“It was funny. McCluskey and Roberts chasing ghosts with myself and four revenue officers as the audience. I nearly laughed when McCluskey told me the story this morning. They didn’t come within fifteen yards of the edge of the cliff, either, although they said they did.
“The weather man told me to-day the storm would blow over by evening and I figured the Hongkong would be making port and the ring would attempt to land their stuff; every liner has been bringing it in. I came out last night on the chance she might try to make port.
“No one suspected Enright.”
[Pg 287]It was a quarter to one o’clock when the train pulled into the depot144. Marshall turned the body over to Phillips and Castle with a terse21 resume of the facts and then took his men and his bundles of opium and disappeared. They laid Enright out on a bench to await the coroner’s deputies.
Phillips came over to us.
“I guess I acted kind of stiff,” he said, in awkward apology. “But I want to hand it to you. You scored on us strong.”
Lanagan put out his hand. The detective took it.
“You’ll never make any mistake treating newspaper men right, Phillips. Just do this much for us now, will you? Hold off thirty minutes before you telephone the morgue. That will keep the story exclusively for the Enquirer.”
“I’ll do it,” said Phillips.
And he did; which may seem to the layman145 a little thing, but to the newspaper man a detail of vast importance; because it enabled Lanagan, sending the story to the office by telephone, to score once again in sensational146 manner over his contemporaries, the Times and the Herald147.
The End
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1
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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2
atrocity
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| n.残暴，暴行 | |
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3
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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4
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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5
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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6
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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7
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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8
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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9
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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10
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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11
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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12
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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13
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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14
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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15
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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16
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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17
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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18
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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19
premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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20
enquirer
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| 寻问者，追究者 | |
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21
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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22
tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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23
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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24
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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25
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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26
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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27
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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28
impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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29
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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30
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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31
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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32
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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33
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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34
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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35
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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36
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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37
hummock
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| n.小丘 | |
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38
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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39
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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40
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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41
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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42
hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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43
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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44
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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45
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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46
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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47
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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48
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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49
apex
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| n.顶点，最高点 | |
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50
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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51
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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52
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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53
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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54
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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55
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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56
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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57
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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58
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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59
heyday
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| n.全盛时期，青春期 | |
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60
cluttering
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的现在分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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61
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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62
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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63
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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64
substantiate
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| v.证实；证明...有根据 | |
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65
chagrined
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| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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67
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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68
monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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69
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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70
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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71
scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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72
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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74
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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75
ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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77
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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78
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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79
choleric
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| adj.易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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80
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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81
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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82
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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83
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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84
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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85
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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86
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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87
awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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88
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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89
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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90
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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91
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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93
pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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94
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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95
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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96
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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97
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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98
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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99
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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100
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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101
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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102
overdue
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| adj.过期的，到期未付的；早该有的，迟到的 | |
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103
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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104
grouchy
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| adj.好抱怨的；愠怒的 | |
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105
climaxes
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| n.顶点( climax的名词复数 )；极点；高潮；性高潮 | |
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106
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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107
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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108
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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109
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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110
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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111
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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112
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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113
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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114
peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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115
flares
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| n.喇叭裤v.（使）闪耀( flare的第三人称单数 )；（使）（船舷）外倾；（使）鼻孔张大；（使）（衣裙、酒杯等）呈喇叭形展开 | |
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116
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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117
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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118
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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119
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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120
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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121
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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122
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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123
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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125
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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126
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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127
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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128
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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129
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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130
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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131
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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132
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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133
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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134
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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135
taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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136
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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137
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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138
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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140
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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141
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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142
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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143
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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144
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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145
layman
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| n.俗人，门外汉，凡人 | |
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146
sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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147
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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