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Authors: Angus MacVicar
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voice had crept a great dourness.
“Why!” roared the Fiscal, his face red with anger. “I’ll tell you why! Five clergymen and two priests have been murdered in different places throughout Britain. We have stirred up the police forces in these districts, and Scotland Yard is on the job to-day. But your damned article has probably ruined any chance the police had of tracing the murderers. Now that it has appeared, local representatives of what can only be a national gang of criminals will at once warn headquarters. The result will be that members of the group will lie low until the excitement has died down … Further, you have probably aroused a wholesale panic in the country.”
“Is that all?” asked James.
“No, MacPherson, it is not all!” returned the Fiscal. “I realise well enough that after our efforts last night the big newspapers would have got a grip of the story in a day or two, at any rate. But that might have given the police sufficient time to make the necessary round-up. As it is, here we are, all our cards placed on the table — by you — and we haven’t a single clue to go by, save the sprig of mistletoe.”
Inspector McMillan looked sheepishly at James: never before had the Fiscal and he quarrelled with the editor of the Gazette . Was it worth it now? The Chief Constable twirled his eyeglass somewhat uncomfortably, for he knew James well and had some respect for his ability. The two detectives watched the young man’s face interestedly. The expression there had become intensely forbidding.
“These are your opinions, Mr. MacLean,” said James, his cheeks white and his eyes glowering. “They are not mine. The murders were committed on Tuesday evening: my article was not published until to-day. During the interval the ‘national gang,’ as you call it, must have been lulled into a certain sense of security. Here at Campbeltown, in fact, did you not have O’Hare and Muldoon — who are without a doubt implicated in the crimes — actually in your clutches? And had your methods been worth a docken you might have been arresting Allan’s murderers this very afternoon instead of wasting your time with me, and sending out search-parties for escaped criminals. I am certain that in other parts of the country similarly suspicious persons have been apprehended by this time — and are still in jail! And by degrees they will probably volunteer all the information that is necessary.”
Inspector McMillan squirmed and looked appealingly at James, trying to make him understand that he was by no means responsible either for the escape of O’Hare and Muldoon or for the Fiscal’s tirade.
“Furthermore, Mr. MacLean,” continued James, “did it ever occur to you that these murders must have been arranged for long before the twenty-third of June? Did it ever occur to you that your ‘gang’ could not have counted upon an electric storm of such severity on Midsummer’s Eve? Did it ever occur to you that they would have killed these clergymen and priests no matter whether there had been a storm or not to cover their tracks? And had there been no storm, the fact of their crimes would have been apparent at once to men of even the dullest intellect, and would have been bruited abroad in every newspaper in the kingdom. Murders on such a scale could not have been planned all of a sudden when the great storm was predicted on the wireless on Tuesday morning. In my opinion, Mr. MacLean, your ‘gang’ will not be in the least perturbed by my article, or, for that matter, by subsequent articles in other newspapers. They will be slightly annoyed, perhaps, that an excellent chance of the murders remaining undetected has been lost, but the article cannot be a circumstance outside their original calculations. As to a panic being aroused in the country, it is up to the police to prevent it by arresting the murderers.
“And what is more, sir,” concluded James, “I can claim that had it not been for my
“Why!” roared the Fiscal, his face red with anger. “I’ll tell you why! Five clergymen and two priests have been murdered in different places throughout Britain. We have stirred up the police forces in these districts, and Scotland Yard is on the job to-day. But your damned article has probably ruined any chance the police had of tracing the murderers. Now that it has appeared, local representatives of what can only be a national gang of criminals will at once warn headquarters. The result will be that members of the group will lie low until the excitement has died down … Further, you have probably aroused a wholesale panic in the country.”
“Is that all?” asked James.
“No, MacPherson, it is not all!” returned the Fiscal. “I realise well enough that after our efforts last night the big newspapers would have got a grip of the story in a day or two, at any rate. But that might have given the police sufficient time to make the necessary round-up. As it is, here we are, all our cards placed on the table — by you — and we haven’t a single clue to go by, save the sprig of mistletoe.”
Inspector McMillan looked sheepishly at James: never before had the Fiscal and he quarrelled with the editor of the Gazette . Was it worth it now? The Chief Constable twirled his eyeglass somewhat uncomfortably, for he knew James well and had some respect for his ability. The two detectives watched the young man’s face interestedly. The expression there had become intensely forbidding.
“These are your opinions, Mr. MacLean,” said James, his cheeks white and his eyes glowering. “They are not mine. The murders were committed on Tuesday evening: my article was not published until to-day. During the interval the ‘national gang,’ as you call it, must have been lulled into a certain sense of security. Here at Campbeltown, in fact, did you not have O’Hare and Muldoon — who are without a doubt implicated in the crimes — actually in your clutches? And had your methods been worth a docken you might have been arresting Allan’s murderers this very afternoon instead of wasting your time with me, and sending out search-parties for escaped criminals. I am certain that in other parts of the country similarly suspicious persons have been apprehended by this time — and are still in jail! And by degrees they will probably volunteer all the information that is necessary.”
Inspector McMillan squirmed and looked appealingly at James, trying to make him understand that he was by no means responsible either for the escape of O’Hare and Muldoon or for the Fiscal’s tirade.
“Furthermore, Mr. MacLean,” continued James, “did it ever occur to you that these murders must have been arranged for long before the twenty-third of June? Did it ever occur to you that your ‘gang’ could not have counted upon an electric storm of such severity on Midsummer’s Eve? Did it ever occur to you that they would have killed these clergymen and priests no matter whether there had been a storm or not to cover their tracks? And had there been no storm, the fact of their crimes would have been apparent at once to men of even the dullest intellect, and would have been bruited abroad in every newspaper in the kingdom. Murders on such a scale could not have been planned all of a sudden when the great storm was predicted on the wireless on Tuesday morning. In my opinion, Mr. MacLean, your ‘gang’ will not be in the least perturbed by my article, or, for that matter, by subsequent articles in other newspapers. They will be slightly annoyed, perhaps, that an excellent chance of the murders remaining undetected has been lost, but the article cannot be a circumstance outside their original calculations. As to a panic being aroused in the country, it is up to the police to prevent it by arresting the murderers.
“And what is more, sir,” concluded James, “I can claim that had it not been for my
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