Vintage Murder Read Free

Australia is a four days’ journey from—”
    “I know, I know,” said Hambledon with a wink at the tall man.
    “Well, it
is
provoking, dear,” said Miss Max huffily. “We don’t like to be called Australian. Not that I’ve anything against the Aussies. It’s the ignorance.”
    A chain of yellow lights travelled past their windows. The train stopped and uttered a long steamy sigh. All along the carriage came the sound of human beings yawning and shuffling.
    “I wish my father had never met my mother,” grumbled the comedian.
    “Come on,” said Hambledon to the tall man.
    They went out through the door. Courtney Broadhead was standing on the narrow iron platform of their carriage. His overcoat collar was turned up and his hat jammed over his eyes. He looked lost and miserable. The other two men stepped down on to the station platform. The cold night air smelt clean after the fug of the train. There was a tang in it, salutary and exciting.
    “It smells like the inside of a flower shop,” said Hambledon. “Moss, and cold wet earth, and something else. Are we very high up in the world, I wonder?”
    “I think we must be. To me it smells like mountain air.”
    “What about this coffee?”
    They got two steaming china baths from the refreshment counter and took them out on to the platform.
    “Hailey! Hailey!”
    The window of one of the sleepers had been opened and through it appeared a head.
    “Carolyn!” Hambledon walked swiftly to the window. “Haven’t you settled down yet? It’s after half-past two, do you know that?”
    The murky lights from the station shone on that face, finding out the hollows round the eyes and under the cheek bones. The tall man had never been able to make up his mind about Carolyn Dacres’s face. Was it beautiful? Was it faded? Was she as intelligent as her face seemed to promise? As he watched her he realised that she was agitated about something. She spoke quickly, and in an undertone. Hambledon stared at her in surprise and then said something. They both looked for a moment at the tall man. She seemed to hesitate.
    “Stand clear, please.”
    A bell jangled. He mounted the platform of his carriage where Courtney Broadhead still stood hunched up in his overcoat. The train gave one of those preparatory backward clanks. Hambledon, still carrying his cup, hurriedly mounted the far platform of the sleeper. They were drawn out of the station into the night. Courtney Broadhead, after a sidelong glance at the tall man, said something inaudible and returned to the carriage. The tall man remained outside. The stern of the sleeping-carriage in front swayed and wagged, and the little iron bridge that connected the two platforms jerked backwards and forwards. Presently Hambledon came out of the sleeper and, holding to the iron rails, made towards him over the bridge. As soon as they were together he began to shout:
    “… very upset… most extraordinary… wish you’d…” The wind snatched his voice away.
    “I can’t hear you.”
    “It’s Meyer — I can’t make it out. Come over here.”
    He led the way across the little bridge and drew his companion into the entrance lobby of the next carriage.
    “It’s Meyer,” said Hambledon. “He says someone tried to murder him.”

Chapter II
MR. MEYER IN JEOPARDY
    The tall man merely stared at Hambledon who came to the conclusion that his astonishing announcement had not been heard.
    “Someone has tried to murder Alfred Meyer,” he bawled.
    “All right,” said the tall man. He looked disgusted and faintly alarmed.
    “Carolyn wants you to come along to their sleeper.”
    “You haven’t told her—?”
    “No, no. But I wish you’d let me—”
    The inside door of the little lobby burst open, smacking Hambledon in the rear. The pale face of Mr. Alfred Meyer appeared round the side.
    “Hailey — do come along. What are you — oh!” He glanced at the tall man.
    “We are both coming,” said Hambledon.
    They all lurched along