Death on the Last Train Read Free Page A

thick-set, nautical-looking man suddenly arrived on the platform.
    â€œThat the eleven-four just in?” he said huskily, buttonholing Sid Grimes, who in the excitement of events was busy chasing his tail. “It
does
get in some time, then. I got so cold waitin’ for the boss, I just nipped round to the back door of the
Navigation
for a warmer. . .”
    The porter looked blankly at his questioner and then his face lit up.
    â€œEh, Mr. Tarrant, I’m glad you’ve come. Your boss ’as been found shot dead in the train. … Suicide, they say …”
    Tarrant stiffened. Then he grasped the palpitating porter by the lapels of his jacket.
    â€œWhere is ’e? Where’ve they put ’im?” he breathed harshly.
    â€œStill in the train. Waitin’ fer the perlice. Scotland Yard’s already on the job. . . An’ you leave me alone, Tarrant. No need to shake me like that … I ain’t done ’im in.”
    But Tarrant was running along the platform like one demented.
    â€œSuicide,” he called as he ran. “Suicide … To ’ell with that for a tale. They’ve got ’im at last … Murder. That’s wot it is. Murder. Where is ’e?”
    Two men had to hold him back to prevent him meddling with the body.

Chapter II

The Chief Constable Feels Guilty
    Littlejohn was intoxicated by fatigue and could hardly keep his eyes open. His brain refused to register all the Chief Constable was saying.
    Captain Forrester was a tall, heavily-built man in his middle forties. Salton being a County Borough controlled its own police, and the Chief Constable was a hard-working officer who had risen in the ranks in other towns. In his official clothes and wearing his cap he looked his age, for he had bright blue eyes, a fresh complexion, a humorous mouth and a good carriage. Minus his cap, however, he seemed years older. He was completely bald on top with a fringe of fair, almost sandy hair all round a shiny pink dome. His record was unusually good and the force he controlled was efficient and contented.
    Forrester had clutched at Littlejohn like a drowning man at a straw when he found him with the body of the dead man. He wanted his help badly. He would make it all right with Scotland Yard and give him every facility for completing his brief business in the neighbouring town of Ellinborne. Besides, the hotels in the latter town were all third-rate. Now,
The Laughing Man
, at Salton, was really tip-top. Why not stay there and be comfortable?
    Littlejohn didn’t need much persuading. They sent his bag to the hotel and booked a room for him. Thefatal railway coach was slipped from the train and after the police had carefully examined the compartment whence the body of Bellis had been removed, it was locked and put in the siding with a constable on guard. An excited statement was taken from Bellis’s manservant, Tarrant, and a police car sent to Mereton to bring in Bessie Emmott. The police surgeon, Dr. Cooper, who in spite of the late hour seemed keen on his work, began an autopsy on the body right away.
    Then Forrester took Littlejohn to the police station to explain why he was so anxious to enlist his aid.
    It was a dismal sort of building, old, with little in the way of comfort and smelling strongly of disinfectant. Even the Chief Constable’s office was bare and depressing. There was a big fire in the old-fashioned grate, but the desks were of plain wood and the chairs old and as hard as bricks. Defence regulations and police notices plastered the walls.
    PORT OF SALTON.
    CARRYING OF CAMERAS AND TAKING PHOTOGRAPHS.
    It is forbidden to …
    So Salton was a port, was it? Never heard of it, mused Littlejohn.
    FISHING GROUNDS … BUOYS AND LIGHTS …
    MINES … WRECKAGE WASHED IN BY THE TIDE …
    HIGH TIDE THIS DAY. . . And then a blank. Somebody was keeping it a secret! Littlejohn’s dim eyes roamed from one poster to another. All