Drury Lane’s Last Case Read Online Free PDF Page A

missing passenger, Mr. Fisher? I’m afraid I’m a little dull this morning.”
    Fisher’s big jaw hardened. “That’s what I don’t know. But,” he went on in a stubborn tone, “this bird with the blue shap-po disappears, an’ Donoghue disappears around the same time, an’ I can’t help feelin’ there’s a connection somewhere.” Patience nodded thoughtfully. “The reason I come here, like I said before, ma’am,” continued Fisher in a heavy tone, “is that if I went to the police Donoghue might get sore. He’s no trustin’ babe, Miss Thumm; he can handle himself. But—well, damn it, I’m worried about him and I thought I’d ask the Inspector sort of for old time’s sake to try an’ find out what happened to that thick Irishman.”
    â€œWell, Inspector,” murmured Patience, “and can you resist such an appeal to your vanity?”
    â€œGuess not,” grinned her father. “No dough in it, Fisher, and times are hard, but I s’pose we can scout around a bit.”
    Fisher’s boyish face lightened magically, “Swell!” he cried. “That’s real swell of you, Inspector.”
    â€œWell, then,” said Thumm in brisk tones, “let’s get down to cases. Ever seen this man in the blue hat before, Fisher?”
    â€œNo, sir. Absolute stranger to me. And what’s more,” said the bus-driver with a frown, “I’m pretty sure Donoghue hadn’t, either.”
    â€œHow on earth could you know that?” asked Patience, astonished.
    â€œWell, when I came into the museum with my nineteen chickadees, Donoghue got a good look at the lot, one by one. He didn’t say anything to me about knowin’ any of ’em, and he would have if he’d recognized one.”
    â€œDoesn’t exactly follow,” remarked the Inspector dryly, “but I imagine it’s true just the same. Suppose you give me a description of Donoghue. I don’t remember him any too well—haven’t seen him for about ten years.”
    â€œHusky build, about a hundred and seventy-five,” replied Fisher rapidly, “stands around five foot ten, sixty years old, strong as a bull, red Irish pan on him with a bullet-scar on his right cheek—you’d remember that, Inspector, I guess; couldn’t ever forget it if you spotted it even once—walks like a slouch, sort of——”
    â€œSwaggers?” suggested Patience.
    â€œThat’s it! Grey hair now and damn’ sharp grey eyes.”
    â€œGood boy,” said the Inspector approvingly. “You’d have made a swell cop, Fisher. I remember now. Does he still smoke that stinkin’ old clay pipe of his? That was one of his worst vices, I recall.”
    â€œSure does,” said Fisher with a grin. “When he’s off duty. I forgot that.”
    â€œFine.” The Inspector rose abruptly. “You go back to your job, Fisher, and leave this to me. I’ll look into it and if I find anything screwy about it I’ll turn it over to the police. It’s really a police job.”
    â€œThanks, Inspector, thanks,” said the bus-driver, and bowing jerkily to Patience he pounded out of the office, causing Miss Brodie’s heart as he passed her in the ante-room to beat quite rapidly in maidenly tribute to his muscular bigness.
    â€œNice lad,” murmured Patience, “if a little on the uncouth side. Did you notice those shoulders, father dear? What a line-bucker he would have made if he’d cut his teeth on a Latin book instead of an emergency brake!”
    Inspector Thumm sniffed mightily through his smashed nose, hunched his own wide shoulders, and consulted a telephone directory. He dialled a number. “’Lo! Rivoli Bus Company? This is Thumm speaking, of the Thumm Detective Agency. You the manager? … Oh, you are. What’s the name? …