1937-05-07 — Page 25

THE CHINA MAIL FRIDAY SUPPLEMENT, MAY 7, 1937.

MIND READERS

"THERE is no police force in

the world that can counter. the intelligent law-breaker," wrote that remarkable man Len Witlon, in an article he once con- tributed to the American Press, "providing he lays his plans care- fully and skilfully and carries them through without deviation."

Len Wilton knew five languages perfectly, and had friends and sometimes confederates in at least a dozen European prisons. He himself had certainly been under detention, but had never been dis- honoured by a conviction.

You met him at the American bar of Claridge's in Paris, or dining at Armonvillier; occasion- ally he took a cure at Vichy or Baden-Baden there were cer- tain mud baths in Czechoslovakia that he visited regularly. He was a vain and brilliant man, very jealous of his reputation for gal- lantry.

to...

"To be successful in robbery one must be something of a psy- chologist. It is not sufficient know where material danger is to be found; one must be able to read the mind of one's opponent. That is the art of generalship: success comes when the operator combines with his powers of or-

ganisation a loyal and unswerving loyalty to his comrades."

read this Inspector O. Rater interesting article so often that he could almost quote it word for word. He had cut out the article soon after its publication, had pasted it in an exercise book against the day when Len would commence operations in England.

"Tell that friend of yours," said the Orator, to a familiar of the great man, "that if he ever puts his nose, inside of London he won't be giving interviews for 14 years.

One day Len took up the chal- lenge

A policeman came through Burford-square at 2 leisurely pace, moving towards the corner of Canford-street. He had arrang- ed with the constable patrolling the next beat to meet him there at eleyen and finish the interrupt- ed story, of a brother-in-law's: shortcomings, and the problem. of the wife and three children who had been left unsupported by the aforesaid brother-in-law's hasty departure for Canada.

He came to the rendezvous

as his

almost the same moment mate appeared. And the serial was continued:

26

'Well,' I says to my sis- ter. 'you've only got yourself to blame-

He stopped dead.

of

The scream came from one the dark houses of the square, and not very far away.

"Murder

murder!"

The two police officers were al- ready running

On the door- step of No. 95 a girl was stand- ing. They saw the white of her nightgown in the dim light of a street lamp.

"Help .

please! Oh, thank

God you've come!"

She retreated before them through the open door into the

and

dark hall.

"I heard him scream. the struggle... and I tried to get into his

room...

"

She had been feeling for the switch,

she found

and

it. A big glass lantern suspended from the high ceil- ing glowed with a golden light.

"What is it, miss? Which room?".

Her trembling fingers pointed to the stairway.

She was very pret- ty though as white.as chalk, the officer observed. "Put a coat on the lady, Harry" he indicated a little : alcove where. hats and coats were hanging. "Now, miss, you'll have to show us the room."

She shook her head; her eyes were wide with horror.

room

"No, no, no! I can't. It is the first landing--the overlooking the square-

The two uniformed men rac- ed up the stairs; as they reached the square landing, a light came on, probably controlled from the hall below, for there was a push- button switch on the wall of the landing and nobody could have touched that.. Facing them was

polished mahogany door with

an ornamental gilt and enamelled door knob.

P. C. Simpson- (he of the wrong- ed sister) turned the handle. The door was locked from the inside. He shook the handle vigorously and called out:

"Open this door!”

A futile invitation, and laugh- able in any other state of affairs. More futile since when he turned the knob the door opened.

It was a large room, running the whole width of the house. Light came from a crystal chan- delier. P. C. Simpson saw, big gilt and mahogany writing-

EDGAR

a

his first murder, all too awar the tremendous importance him and to his career; he had confused memory of instructions he had received as to what policeman should do in such cir cumstances..

"Don't let nobody come in," he said huskily, and gaped round the room. A long window was open -he stepped out on to a balcony, flashing his electric lamp along the rails.

A rope was knotted to the bal- cony rail and trailing down-as he saw by the rays of his lamp to the front steps. It

had not

WALLACE

IN ONE OF HIS BEST STORIES

table; behind that was a carved marble fireplace, and on the white hearth an electric fire glowed red- ly. Until they passed round the table they did not see the quiet figure that lay, face upwards. It was in evening dress; one hand gripped the edge of the marble curb that surrounded the fire- place; the other was half ́ rais- ed, as though to ward off a blow.

"He's dead-shot

look!"

Simpson's companion pointed to the patch of blood above the heart.

P. C. Simpson stared down at

been there when they had come in or they must have knocked against it.

"He's got away since we came in, Harry. Come down with me!"

They flew down the stairs into the silent square, they did not see the girl, she must have gone to her room.

The front door was closed. P. C. Simpson jerked at it with con- fidence, but this door did not open He twisted the handle and pulled again, but it was a very heavy (Continued on Page 3)

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gusto the place where

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MAIZEE'S

Alexandra Bldg.