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THE MURDER IN X. STREET (PART I)
Published in What's On London, England 8 February 1908 (page 11)
OUR NEW COMPETITION
THE MURDER IN X. STREET Chapter I
We begin this week with a new competition, and offer a prize of £5 to the successful competitor, in addition to the regular weekly prize of 10s. 6d.
What you have to do is read the story and send in your solution of the problems propounded in the course of the narrative.
To the competitor who sends each week the best and clearest solution we will award a sum of 10s. 6d. All entries for the competition will be kept by us, and when the series is concluded we will send to the competitor whose replies have won most marks during the series the sum of £5.
Rules—Competitors must attach to their replies the coupon to be found on the outside top corner of the front cover.
Note.—This coupon will only be found on purchased copies of WHAT’S ON, as it is purposely omitted from all copies supplied to hotels, restaurants, clubs, etc., to prevent mutilation.
Competitors should write as clearly as possible, and must send their full name and address with each reply.
The Editor’s decision is final.
No employee of WHAT’S ON is allowed to compete.
Address your replies to Editor, WHAT’S ON, 32, Essex Street, Strand, W.C., and write “Competition” on the top left-hand corner of your envelope.
Last week’s competition was won by Mr. H. Knight, 2, Catherine Court, Tower Hill, E.C.
THE MURDER IN X. STREET.
Rupert Lascelles has been dining too freely, a fact that accounts for his extraordinary mistake about the time. He had steered a fairly successful course down the Strand, avoiding the few passengers who were still loitering in that never deserted thoroughfare, and now paused at the corner of X. Street. Here, seeking support against a convenient lamp-post, he fumbled with his watch chain, and at last succeeded in snapping open the case of his gold hunter repeater.
At this moment a rough, uncouth man, who had been lurking under the shadow of the houses, came across and addressed him:
“Wot’s the time, guv?” he asked.
“Pasht two,” replied Lascelles.
“Ho! is it?” said the rough man, making a deft grab at his watch. The next moment Lascelles found himself alone.
Now, it appeared afterwards that Lascelles had made a mistake in his estimate of the time, since he had mistaken the long and short hands of his watch for each other, a mistake which caused him to believe that the time was between 55 and 57 minutes later than it actually was. (What was the real time?)
For a moment Lascelles was too startled to grasp the fact that he had been robbed, then, pulling himself together with an effort, he started down X. Street in a belated chase after the pickpocket, who had by this time safely made his escape.
At the bottom of the street, however, Lascelles saw two men bending over some object on the ground, and, believing that one of them was his late assailant, he slowed down and approached them cautiously, with the result that he was enabled to overhear the following extraordinary conversation which was being held between them:—
Said the first: “I will take from the red things such as are round.”
“Very good,” said the first, “but, of course, anything that is not round, even in your original portion, comes to me.”
“That is hardly fair,” replied the second. “If I agree to that you must let me have all the red hot round things that are golden.”
“Done,” cried the first, “on condition that you give up from all you are at present entitled to everything which is neither silver nor gold.”
“An easy condition,” said the second, “for everything I am entitled to is silver.”
As they laughed and shook hands on the bargain, Lascelles lurched forward: “Shay, ol’ pals,” he observed, “what was the swag, anyway?”
“You’d better ask the readers of What’s On,” replied the thieves, making off hurriedly.
At this dramatic moment a series of heart-rending shrieks broke the silence of the night, and a book was thrown furiously from an upper window.
“Murder! Murder!” came the appalling and inhuman yell.
“Thine hour is come, oh, execrable hag!” replied a firm but courteous voice. “Thou worthy spouse of Ahab! I am not employed in the royal household—far from it! But permit me to take the liberty!”—and he plunged her after the book. A grey-headed, wizened, monkey-like mass fell upon the pavement with a resounding plunk.
“Life is not extinct,” exclaimed Lascelles, sober in a moment. Run, one of you, and get a word of seven letters which spells the same forward and backwards.”
But it was useless. The victim of the dastardly outrage was as dead as mutton.
The question then most seriously arose—How dead is mutton? But Lascelles easily showed to the satisfaction of the bystanders and Mr. Algernon Ashton, that it was as dead as anything can be.
“Why!” he said; “I can easily think of six words implying death or burial whose initials form the word `mutton.’ ”
With a muttered curse, Robert Caldwell slunk away!
What six words can you suggest? |