The Mystery of a Hansom Cab Read Online Free PDF Page A

expression passed over his face. The hansom cab murder had been put into his hands in order to clear up the mystery connected therewith, and he was trying to think of how to make a beginning.
    â€˜Hang it,’ he said thoughtfully strapping his razor, ‘a thing with an end must have a start, and if I don’t get the start, how am I to get the end?’
    As the mirror did not answer this question, Mr Gorby lathered his face, and started shaving in a somewhat mechanical fashion, for his thoughts were with the case and ran on in this manner:—
    â€˜Here’s a man—well, say a gentleman—who getsdrunk, and, therefore, don’t know what he’s up to. Another gent who is on the square comes up and sings out for a cab for him—first he says he don’t know him, and then he shows plainly he does—he walks away in a temper, changes his mind, comes back and gets into the cab, after telling the cabby to drive down to St Kilda. Then he polishes the drunk one off with chloroform, gets out of the cab, jumps into another, and after getting out at Powlett Street, vanishes—that’s the riddle I’ve got to find out, and I don’t think the Sphinx ever had a harder one. There are three things to be discovered—First, Who is the dead man? Second, What was he killed for? And Third, Who did it?
    â€˜Once I get hold of the first, the other two won’t be very hard to find out, for one can tell pretty well from a man’s life whether it’s to anyone’s interest that he should be got off the hook. The man who murdered that chap must have had some strong motive, and I must find out what that motive was. Love? No, it wasn’t that—men in love don’t go to such lengths in real life—they do in novels and plays, but I’ve never seen it occurring in my experience. Robbery? No, there was plenty of money in his pocket. Revenge? Now, really it might be that—it’s a kind of thing that carries on most people further than they want to go. There was no violence used, for his clothes weren’t torn, so he must have been taken sudden, and before he knew what the other chap was up to. By the way, I don’t think I examined his clothessufficiently, there might be something about them to give a clue, at any rate it’s worth looking after, so I’ll start with his clothes.’
    So Mr Gorby after he had finished dressing and had had his breakfast, walked quickly to the police station, where he asked for the clothes of the deceased to be shown to him. When he received them he went into a corner by himself and started to examine them. There was nothing remarkable about the coat, as it was merely a well-cut and well-made dress coat, so with a grunt of dissatisfaction Mr Gorby threw it on one side, and picked up the waistcoat.
    Here he found something which interested him very much, and that was a pocket made on the left hand side of the waistcoat, and on the inside.
    â€˜Now, what the deuce is this for?’ said Mr Gorby, scratching his head; ‘it ain’t usual for a dress waistcoat to have a pocket on its inside as I’m aware of; and,’ continued the detective greatly excited, ‘this ain’t tailor’s work, he did it himself, and jolly badly he did it too. Now he must have taken the trouble to make this pocket himself so that no one else would know anything about it, and it was made to carry something valuable—so valuable that he had to carry it with him even when he wore evening clothes. Ah! Here’s a tear on the side nearest the outside of the waistcoat, something has been pulled out roughly— I begin to see now—the dead man possessed somethingwhich the other man wanted, and which he knew the dead one carried about with him. He sees him drunk, gets into the cab with him, and tries to get what he wants; the dead man resists, upon which the other kills him by means of the chloroform which he had with