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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 12, Issue 6 (September 1, 1937.)

the final clue

the final clue.

Twelve clues in the Signal Cabin Mystery have been well and truly classified, tested and examined under the skilled guidance of that arch-detective—Impskill Lloyd.

And each phase of the astounding history following the discovery of Pat Lauder's body at Matamata, has been vividly described with an attention to detail, a dramatic intensity, a wealth of wit, and that keen analysis of character which mark the best work of the writers taking part in this omnibus story.

This final chapter was to have been written by Impskill Lloyd himself. Only circumstances of an unusual nature prevented this.

A disjointed radio message has come from Pekin. It was sent by Impskill himself. He is busy there now engaging boxers to combat a band of international criminals. But he has spared time to provide notes for the thirteenth clue—the strange explanation of those stranger happenings which have been reported monthly since July of last year in the pages of this magazine.

After his many thrilling experiences, rapid readjustments, and clever escapes from the ever-present dangers of the Matamata underworld, Impskill Lloyd, the lightning conductor o f criminal investigation, felt more convinced than ever that a thirteenth clue existed.

He must find it.

Good mathematician though he was, even Imp. found difficulty in arranging, in lucid order, the many pieces on the checker-board of the Matamata Mystery—the Pawns, the Knights and Castles, the Kings and Queens and Bishops that stood and moved in intricate array through the kaleidoscopic changes, the cavalcade of that Homeric drama.

An expert Matamatician—nay, a genius at the game was required. Could one be found?

Fortunately for Impskill's purpose, he suddenly recalled the subtlety of mind possessed by the” Matamata butcher, Kidney Jenkinson.

Here, surely, was a Matamatician after his own heart—one who could square the spare ribs of a tender mutton with meticulous accuracy; who could turn a triangle of beef into a rhomboid with one sure, swift stroke of the cleaver; one who could find the quadratics in quadrupeds with unerring instinct; one to whom the square root of a pork sausage and the binomial theorem of a boiled mutton were equally simple.

He must have the Matamatician Jenkinson—the man who could reduce a surd to the last decimal point of absurdity—to whom sines and portents were equally familiar. Jenkinson ! Who lapped up logarithms like a kitten at the cream jug. Kidney Jenksinson! The Matamata butcher—a Matamatician indeed, in whom there was no bile. Who had, indeed, been called “Kitteny” at College on account of his logarithmic mind. “Kitteny” became “Kidney” when he abandoned logs and anti-logs to enter the butchery business at Matamata.

To Jenkinson, then, must Impskill Lloyd appeal!

Now picture Kidney early on a spring morning in Matamata, munching Matamatically a grilled chop of his own square chopping brought home by his wife on her way from shopping the previous afternoon.

The telephone rings.

Kidney, masticating hurriedly the last morsel, bisects a straight line at right angles as he hastens to take the call.

Over the wire he hears:

“Is that you, Kidney? Impskill here. I want you to stay where you are until I arrive. Be with you in five minutes.”

Kidney's acute mind immediately deduced that an acute angle had developed at a tangent of the fast-closing Lauder Mystery circle.

When Impskill arrived Kidney's deduction soon proved to be accurate.; “Have you anything of Lauder's here,” were his first words, as he page 33 alighted from an extremely high bicycle at the butcher's door.

(From this machine Impskill frequently obtained useful clues through upstairs windows).

Kidney laughed. “I have three sillings in the late Pat Lauder's deposit account for beef,” he said.

“Gillespie is left behind.”

“Gillespie is left behind.”

“But I mean something personal,” said Imp. seriously.

Kidney gazed reflectively through the back kitchen window and, in his mind's eye, squared with Matamatical precision the circle of his own backyard.

“It's a funny thing you should say that!” he replied after a pause.

He walked through to the office safe, spun the combination to the key word “clue,” and—as he swung the door open—pulled out a small drawer from which he extracted a match-box.

Lifting the match-box lid, he tipped upon his open palm a small quartz specimen studded richly with gold.

“I knew it! I knew it!” exulted Impskill in tones of breathless excitement. “The thirteenth clue at last!”

Before replying, Kidney tried to steady his mind by saying, below his breath, the Matamatical exercise for times of excitement—the six times table backwards, and then sideways.

“Why did you never tell me of this before?” continued Impskill reproach fully.

“Had this vital piece of evidence been produced earlier in the proceedings, much might have been saved—and recovered,” he added significantly.

“Well,” said Kidney, “since this mystery started, things have been looking up in the butchering business.

Business, in fact, has never before been so brisk in Matamata. I don't know that I want the mystery cleared.

“Matamata is now a tourist resort for those in search of sensation—and the keen air of mystery surrounding the place since our Signal Cabin sprung into fame has made everyone simply ravenous.

“But I was not holding back anything from you, really,” he continued.

“The phenomenally increased demand for beef made me go outside the usual sources of supply. I've had to buy up quite a number of local cows that for some reason or other the owners were willing to part with—at a price,” he added, somewhat ruefully.

“There was a sale, last week, of Lauder's household and personal effects, including six hens, a pig and a cow. I bought all this livestock.

“The cow was soon converted to prime beef, but a successful butcher must be up in the Matamatics of economical butchering.

“There is a great and growing demand for calf's foot jelly here, and I do my best to supply it. Cow's foot, I find, is twice the strength of calf's foot, so that a given quantity of the older hoof goes twice as far.

“When about to put the four feet of Lauder's cow in the jelly pot, to my amazement I found this quartz specimen firmly embedded in the fork of the off hind hoof.

“I intended to get a legal opinion as to whether the specimen was mine—having bought the cow, or whether—not being a usual part of a cow, but something accidentally attached thereto—it would have to be treated as a separate article and returned to the estate.”

“A fine point,” nodded Impskill.

“Come,” he said, “let us now visit the Lauder estate.”

Mounting the high bicycle and taking Kidney as a back-step passenger, Imp-skill rapidly trundled down the main street until he reached the Lauder place on the edge of the town. The whole property consisted of three acres—the minimum holding for a cow in the by-laws of, Matamata. Impskill quartered the section like a hound, while Kidney split it into small squares which he rooted, but the square roots revealed no trace of any quartz seam! Nor could Impskill's eagle eye detect the slightest trace of auriferous bearing sand or rock on any part of the section. This was not surprising as the nearest known gold mine was at Waihi about 60 miles away as the kaka flies and at least 85 as the kiwi runs.

It was clear as daylight to Impskill that the specimen had dropped out of Lauder's waistcoat pocket as he milked the cow on some date prior to the discovery of the deceased Lauder in the Matamata Signal Box.

It was clear, too, that the cow in its clumsy way had stumbled on the nugget, and in accordance with the mining proverb that “you never know what's in front of the pick,” had picked the specimen up between its splayed off hind foot, and hoofed off with it.

“Lend me the specimen, Kidney. You shall have it back in seven days, when I hope to solve the Lauder Mystery,” said Impskill.

Kidney readily agreed, seeing some further fame for himself through his foresight in guarding so soundly what was proving to be the thirteenth clue.

Impskill's next call was on Zeb Barrett, the Mayor of Matamata. Besides being a Mayor, Zeb had two very keen hobbies of which Impskill had heard soon after his arrival in Matamata.

The first was a very sound knowledge of geology. The second was an insatiable curiosity as to everything that happened in the borough of Matamata. It was this latter quality which accounted for his unfailing return as Mayor. People had a fear that if Zeb failed to be returned he might tell some of the innumerable things he knew about them. Impskill wanted the use of both of these Zebby hobbies.

Zeb greeted him cordially. “How's the solution going?” he cried. “I say, there's a lot of talk around that you've already solved the mystery, but are waiting for the Government to increase the reward!”

(Continued on page 35)

“The Hunt for Gold.”

“The Hunt for Gold.”

page 34