The Urgent Hangman

Chapter 1-3

Callaghan closed the street door behind him, walked along into Chancery Lane, turned left and strolled into Holborn. At the coffee stall he remembered his hunger, bought two cheese-cakes and two cups of coffee. He ate and drank and ordered three packets of Player's cigarettes. He registered a mental note to get some new shoes.

He walked back through Chancery Lane again in the direction of Fleet Street, thinking.

Of course the woman was a damned liar. But she was good. Callaghan was definitely pleased with the memory of her appearance. She had something all right. And what was the hurry about seeing him at that time of night? Why couldn't she have waited until next morning? Still, maybe the boy friend Willie was getting all worked up about her, kidding himself that somebody was going to frame her for a murder. What damned rot! That sort of thing just didn't happen in England, it only happened in America and on the pictures— or did it?

Callaghan remembered one or two odd things that had happened in England all right. Things that never made an inch in a newspaper and that the police never even heard of. He grinned.

He turned down Fleet Street and walked to the office of the Morning Echo. He sent a slip up for Mr Jengel. Then he sat down and waited.

Five minutes afterwards Jengel came down. Jengel was the Echo crime reporter. He was very tall and thin and wore very thick glasses.

He sat down on the seat beside Callaghan.

'Hallo, Spike,' he said. 'What's eating you?'

Callaghan held out a cigarette.

'Looky, Michael,' he said. 'I s'pose you wouldn't have any little tit-bit about the Meraulton family, would you? Something that's never got into the paper, you know— one of them things?'

Jengel lit the cigarette. Then he looked oddly at Callaghan.

'Come outside,' he said.

They went out into the street.

'What's the lay?' asked Jengel with a grin. 'An' who're you working for this time?'

Callaghan grinned.

'So you do know somethin'?' he queried, his head on one side. 'Come on, Mike— give— or have you forgotten to remember last June an' the young lady of Peckham?'

Jengel flushed.

'All right,' he said. 'But this is off the ice an' it's sweet.

'I got a flash tonight,' he went on. 'One of those things that break you up. We're not allowed to do a thing about it— well, not till tomorrow, anyhow. I suppose you couldn't tell me why you're so interested in this Meraulton crowd?'

Callaghan shrugged.

'I've got a case,' he said. 'The usual sort of cheap divorce an' blackmail mixed— you know.'

Jengel nodded.

'The policeman on duty in Lincoln's Inn Fields found the old boy August Meraulton lying up against the railings in the rain at eleven-forty-five tonight. He was as dead as a piece of cold mutton.'

Callaghan nodded.

'Too bad,' he said. 'He'd got a bad heart, hadn't he? He was likely to go off like that.'

Jengel grinned.

'Bad heart my fanny,' he said. 'Somebody shot him. He was shot clean through the head. What a story, and we can't break with it? There's a bar until tomorrow. It's just breaking me up.'

Callaghan lit another cigarette from the stub of the last one.

'Look, Mike,' he said. 'This is sort of serious with me. I'm interested, see? It was raining when they found the body, wasn't it? Well, maybe they've parked it in some mortuary not too far away. Maybe it'll be some time before the C.I.D. doctor gets round there. You never know.'

He held the cigarettes out to Jengel.

'Listen, Mike,' he said, 'you're in with the right boys. You find out where they've put the body. Find out if they've had the examination an' search an' photographs all fixed. If they haven't, you find out how many policemen are keepin' an eye on it— an' if there's only the usual one. Find out what the mortuary keeper's name is an' if he's married, an' where he lives an' what his wife's first name is.'

Jengel's mouth opened.

'What the hell is all this?' he exploded. 'I'm a crime reporter, not a blasted inquiry office. How the hell can I do a thing like that?'

Callaghan grinned at him.

'Look, Mike,' he said. 'You never know what you can do till you try. I'll get around to my office an' wait for you to come through. I reckon it ought to take you about an hour to get all that stuff I want.'

He turned up his coat collar.

'An' you get it, Mike,' he said softly, 'because if you don't my memory is liable to go all funny about that young lady of Peckham, an' it wouldn't be so good for you— now would it?'

Jengel threw the cigarette stub away.

'Damn you, Slim,' he said. 'If I didn't like you I'd think you were a louse.'

Callaghan was still grinning.

'Forget about liking me, Mike,' he said. 'Just remember the young lady of Peckham. I'll expect you to call me in an hour— that'll be about one-fifteen. So long, Mike.'

Callaghan went into the call-box outside the Law Courts. He rang a number. At the other end he could hear the ringing tone jangling regularly.

He waited.

'Hallo,' he said eventually. 'Is that Miss Meraulton's flat? Who is it speakin'? Her maid? All right. Well, you get Miss Meraulton out of bed an' get her to the telephone. Tell her it's Mr Callaghan.'

Holding the receiver with one hand, he managed to extract another cigarette. He found a vesta in his waistcoat and struck it against the wall.

Her voice came through.

'Hallo,' said Callaghan softly. 'I'd hate to get you up for nothin', but it seems to me that there has been a nice little murder tonight. Maybe you'd like a minute to think that out.'

He waited. Then:

'All right. Don't argue an' don't start talkin' a lot of rot. I knew all that stuff you told me tonight was just nice honest-to-goodness bunk. See? Now you get some clothes on an' get around to my office about two-thirty. Walk round there. Don't take a cab. Walk there. Understand? An' come out quietly so that maid of yours don't hear you goin'.'

He hung up.

Outside the call-box he stood undecided for a moment. Then he examined the sole of his shoe— the bad one. Then he walked back through Chancery Lane to the Holborn coffee stall and bought a cheesecake and a cup of coffee.

It began to rain again.