[ANOTHER MYSTERY]
Mulligan stared at the dead woman, but beyond touching her to see if life remained, he did not attempt to alter the position of the corpse. For corpse it was. The woman was as dead as a stone, and Mulligan knew his duty too well to take any authority upon himself The inspector was the man to issue orders, and the inspector would be at the head of Achilles Avenue when the clock struck twelve. As this thought passed slowly through the policeman's mind--for the unexpectedness of the tragedy had somewhat dazed him--he heard the midnight chimes. With a sudden start he recovered his wits and wheeled round. In a few minutes he was out of the house, and had closed the door. Only when in the roadway did his brain begin to work at its normal speed.
"It's that young gentleman," thought Mulligan. "He said I'd come across a crime sooner than I expected. And the key is his. Mary, be good to us; but he must have killed the poor creature before he joined me. Augh!" He stopped and considered. "But if that's so, what about the singing. She was at the piano, and the song wasn't done when the gentleman joined me. Augh!"
At this moment of his reflection, and while he was looking anxiously down the road for the inspector, a man came walking rapidly along, and suddenly emerged from a side-street that ran at right angles to Achilles Avenue. He almost dashed into the arms of Mulligan, who brought up short under a lamp. "Where are ye going?" asked the policeman, rendered suspicious by his recent discovery and by the manifest haste of the man.
"Going, confound you!" snapped the man, who seemed to be in a very bad temper. "I'm looking for my motor-car."
"For your what?"
"Motor-car! Automobile! Can't you understand English? I've lost it. Some one's bolted with the whole kit. Have you seen my car? It's painted yellow picked out with black, and------"
"Here's the inspector," chipped in Mulligan, recognising with relief the rigid form of his superior. "You can tell him, and if you're the man, anything you may say will be used in evidence against you. That's the law. Augh!"
The man stared at this speech, but Mulligan wiped his heated brow and glared at him in a resentful manner, not at all sure but what this might be the criminal. There was no ground for such a supposition, especially as the key belonged to another man. But Mulligan was not in a position to weigh his words, and therefore said the first thing that came into his mind. So the man stared, Mulligan scowled, and the inspector drew near.
"You've been drinking, bobby," said the man at length. "My name is Luther Tracey. I manufacture motor-cars, and some beast has bolted with one of the best I've ever turned out. Such a flier. I guess you police hereabouts ain't worth a cent."