Dixon Hawke Detective Short Stories Book 17: Dixon Hawke Short Stories, #17

By Jason Charles

Embark on a thrilling journey through 1930s England with the brilliant detective Dixon Hawke and his trusted assistant, Tommy Burke, as they unravel baffling mysteries that will keep you guessing until the very end. In this riveting collection of two classic whodunit tales, "Murder Under the Microscope" and "The Quest for the Fifth Vase", intricate plots, suspenseful twists, and captivating characters are masterfully woven, leaving you on the edge of your seat.

In "Murder Under the Microscope", Dixon Hawke finds himself in a race against time to solve a perplexing murder that takes place in the most unlikely of settings—a railway station in the middle of the English Channel. As the detective delves deeper into the case, he uncovers a sinister plot involving a brilliant scientist, a ruthless American gangster, and a groundbreaking discovery that could change the world. With danger lurking at every turn and the stakes higher than ever, Hawke must use his keen intellect and unwavering determination to bring the culprits to justice before more lives are lost.

"The Quest for the Fifth Vase" follows Hawke and Burke as they investigate the mysterious disappearance of a priceless antique vase from a seemingly impenetrable vault. As they navigate a labyrinth of clues and suspects, the detective duo unearths a web of deceit, greed, and betrayal that threatens to unravel the very fabric of London's elite society. With time running out and the culprits always one step ahead, Hawke must rely on his ingenuity, deductive skills, and Tommy's unwavering loyalty to crack the case and recover the missing vase before it's too late.

Vivid descriptions, authentic dialogue, and meticulous attention to detail transport readers to the atmospheric streets of 1930s England, immersing them in a world of aristocrats, art collectors, and nefarious criminals. Through Hawke and Burke's eyes, readers will experience the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of piecing together seemingly unrelated clues, and the rush of adrenaline that comes with confronting dangerous adversaries.

Perfect for fans of Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Dorothy L. Sayers, "Murder Under the Microscope" is a must-read for anyone who loves a good mystery. With its cleverly crafted plots, unexpected twists, and unforgettable characters, this collection showcases the golden age of detective fiction at its finest.

Don't miss out on this opportunity to join Dixon Hawke and Tommy Burke on their most challenging cases yet. Get your copy of "Murder Under the Microscope" today and experience the excitement, suspense, and intellectual stimulation that only a true classic mystery can provide. Immerse yourself in a world where wit, courage, and the relentless pursuit of justice reign supreme, and discover why these timeless tales continue to captivate readers decades after their initial publication.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Charles
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224995172

Book preview

MURDER UNDER THE MICROSCOPE

Jason Charles

Copyright © 2024 Jason Charles

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Jason Charles

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

MURDER UNDER THE MICROSCOPE

CHAPTER 1: THE GANGSTER ON THE TRAIN

CHAPTER 2: THE WIND THAT CHANGED

CHAPTER 3: NIGHT OF HORROR

CHAPTER 4: DOUBLE MURDER

CHAPTER 5: HOLD-UP

CHAPTER 6: A DESPERATE VENTURE

CHAPTER 7: SEAMAN TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER 8: MIKE MALONEY ESCAPES AGAIN!

CHAPTER 9: THE SINISTER PLOT

THE QUEST FOR THE FIFTH VASE

CHAPTER 1: THE COURT MYSTERY

CHAPTER 2: THE YARD IN A PANIC

CHAPTER 3: CRAIL GETS RASH

CHAPTER 4: THE MUSEUM MYSTERY

CHAPTER 5: TOMMY’S ADVENTURE

CHAPTER 6: LARRY EXPLAINS

CHAPTER 7: TOMMY’S NEW JOB

CHAPTER 8: A BATTLE OF WILLS

CHAPTER 9: THE MIRACLE

CHAPTER 10: A SURPRISE AT THE YARD

CHAPTER 11: HAWKE’S PROMISE

CHAPTER 12: STRANGE HAPPENINGS

CHAPTER 13: HAWKE DISAPPEARS

CHAPTER 14: THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

CHAPTER 15: A HUMAN CARGO

CHAPTER 16: HAWKE’S HIGH HAND

CHAPTER 17: A DARING MOVE

CHAPTER 18: THE ROOF HANGAR

CHAPTER 19: THE LAST LAP

MURDER UNDER THE MICROSCOPE

CHAPTER 1: THE GANGSTER ON THE TRAIN

Oliver Cantley was undoubtedly the first person to suffer the unique experience of being murdered in a railway station in the middle of the English Channel. It happened on a bleak Monday night in mid-November, and there were others who ran him close to establishing that gruesome record.

But let the horrifying facts speak for themselves.

Dixon Hawke, the famous detective, was due in Brussels on Tuesday to report to a meeting of bankers on an intricate financial case he had been investigating. It was five o’clock on the Monday afternoon before he wrote the last lines of that report and glanced at the consulting-room clock in his Dover Street chambers.

Too late for the afternoon boat, he remarked to Tommy Burke, his assistant. I’d like to sleep comfortably in Brussels tonight, all the same. See what Imperial Airways can do for us, my lad.

Tommy put down his newspaper and busied himself with the telephone. Ten minutes later, he turned to his employer.

Fog patches over France have caused all air services to be suspended for several hours, at least, he reported. There is fog over the Harwich-Holland Sea route, too. But the Channel is clear lower down.

I see. So that means catching the ten o’clock boat train from Victoria and travelling via Dover and Dunkirk, the detective reflected, filling his pipe from a jar on the mantelpiece. Well, we can hardly grumble at that, Tommy. The Dover-Dunkirk night service is about the last word in luxury travel to the Continent. Book a couple of sleepers, will you?

Tommy grinned a few moments later as he again put down the telephone. I should say it was luxurious travel, guv’nor, he remarked. You simply step aboard your train at Victoria, have dinner and turn into your bunk. At Dover, they run your train into one of those new-fangled ferries. At Dunkirk, they run it out again on to the French railway so that you needn’t leave your bunk until you reach Paris or Brussels. A bit different to what it was a few years ago!

It was half-past nine that night when the detective and his assistant strolled on to platform three at Victoria Station. A smartly uniformed attendant showed them to their sleeping compartments in the luxurious, green-painted train, and having arranged their few belongings, they went for a final stroll on the platform.

The great London terminus was hushed at this hour. The noticeboard near the platform barrier announced that the sea was calm and visibility good.

We shan’t have a crowded train either, by the looks of it, Tommy remarked as he and the detective took up their position near the door of their coach. I don’t suppose anyone would travel tonight unless they had to. We’re not likely to run across anyone we know."

You’re wrong, my lad, Hawke smiled and nodded towards the barrier. This looks like young Sir Richard Standish, though I don’t recognise his companion.

Tommy turned with interest to where a tall, good-looking, smartly dressed young man was presenting his passport for examination by the Customs officials.

Sir Richard Standish, he remarked. Isn’t he the popular young man about town whose mother, Lady Standish, married a second time a few years ago, guv’nor?

Hawke nodded. Yes, she married Howard Cantley, the American millionaire. A tragic business, Tommy. They were killed in a ’plane crash in California a year ago.

And young Sir Richard came into the money, I suppose, Tommy suggested, but Hawke frowned.

I don’t know about that, my lad. He was rather a happy spark at the time, and his stepfather was rumoured not to have approved of him. Also, there was another relative in the running for the fortune—a nephew of the American named Oliver Cantley. However, it’s not difficult to guess why Standish is bound for Paris. He is engaged to Gloria Wetherley, the actress, and I believe she is acting there just now.

The young Baronet was already striding towards them, but he had not seen them yet. He was in earnest conversation with his companion—a shorter, older, rather sullen-looking individual whose broad-brimmed hat and the cut of whose clothes stamped him as an American.

Sir Richard seems a bit unnerved about something, Tommy commented as they watched the pair. Indeed, the two men seemed on the verge of a quarrel when Standish looked up and saw the famous detective. Instantly, his face cleared, and he hurried towards them.

Well, if it isn’t Dixon Hawke! he exclaimed. This is an unexpected honour, I must say. It must be five years ago since we last met when you got back those pearls for my mother. A wave of sadness crossed his face. Then, with a trace of reluctance, he beckoned his companion. Allow me to introduce a sort of relative, Mr Hawke. This is Oliver Cantley, nephew of my late stepfather.

The sullen-faced individual behind Standish merely bowed stiffly to the detective. He seemed too intent on his own angry thoughts to notice the hand that Hawke held out.

How do you do? Honoured, I’m sure, he said in a brusque tone that betrayed his American birth. Then he turned rudely and faced the young Baronet. I’ll go and look up our berths, Richard.

Standish flushed as the other strode away, and his nervousness was more apparent than ever as he forced a smile to cover his companion’s rudeness. Going over on business, I suppose? he suggested, and Hawke nodded as he returned his smile.

Yes. And you’re going on pleasure, eh?

Again, Standish flushed, and, for some reason, he started. It was with obvious reluctance that he answered. I’m going over to be married to my fiancée, Gloria Wetherley, he confided, and as he spoke, he looked quickly towards the doorway through which Cantley had vanished. It would have taken place earlier, Mr Hawke, but Gloria has just come through a long illness. Cantley is acting as best man.

He made his excuses and hurried away, and Tommy grinned as he glanced after him. Well, I hope his nerves improve before he meets his bride tomorrow, he reflected. He doesn’t seem on too good terms with his best man either. Hello, what’s this chap blustering about?

A storm was moving in their direction in the guise of a burly, hatchet-faced man wearing a monocle and a thick travelling coat and cap. His appearance, as well as his speech, betrayed his German birth.

Attendant! Attendant! he roared. Mein gott, is there no service in dis benighted train? Ah, there you are! he rasped as an anxious attendant popped out of a nearby coach. My name is Franz Groot, and I haf a sleeper reserved, and I want it! How am I to find it without guidance, my man?

The attendant apologised and hurriedly consulted a typewritten list in his hand. Then he shook his head. I’m sorry, sir, but your name is not here. Your reservation doesn’t appear to have come through. There is plenty of room, however, so if—

Not come through! the German bawled. And you call dis a railway? Oh, very well, I’ll take dis one.

He dived for the doorway of the nearest compartment, but the attendant hurriedly drew him back. That compartment is reserved for a gentleman named Grand, sir, he protested. But there is an empty one a few numbers down. If you will, please follow me.

The two disappeared in the train, and Tommy grinned again. We’re getting variety at all events, guv’nor. We only want a few Arabs and a sprinkling of Turks and—

Hawke, who had been gazing towards the barrier, touched his arm. How would the king of American gangsters do, my lad? he ventured pleasantly, and Tommy started as he turned.

Well, I’m hanged! he exclaimed. Mike Maloney, who came over here with the idea that he could start a gangster racket in London and found he couldn’t. I read he was being returned to New York without thanks from Scotland Yard, but isn’t this a strange way of sending him?

Three men were striding along the platform, with a station policeman in their wake. The centre of the trio was a giant of a man in excessively smart, over-cut blue clothes. Brutality was written in every line of his scarred, blotched face.

His two companions were Scotland Yard detectives, and both were known to Hawke. Inspector Freeman, the bearded one of the pair, recognised the famous detective as they were conducting their prisoner into a compartment of the train. He reappeared a moment later and came striding down the platform with an outstretched hand.

Well, well, Mr Hawke, he boomed. I hardly expected to see you on this trip. You recognised our cheery-looking prisoner, eh?

Hawke smiled. Mike Maloney’s features are a little too familiar to most people here and in America, I imagine, he replied. But haven’t you chosen a rather unusual route for sending him back?

The inspector’s expression hardened, and he glanced up and down before he answered in a confidential tone.

Maloney fell into our hands, but we believe he still has a pretty powerful section of his gang at large in this part of the world, Mr Hawke. We’ve heard rumours of a probable attempt at rescuing him between England and New York. I won’t say we put much store by them, but—well, we’re taking as few risks as possible. We didn’t fancy taking any at all on board one of the crack liners from Southampton. The rat isn’t worth a first-class passage, anyway. So, we’re shipping him quietly onto a cargo boat that sails from Dunkirk in the morning.

A whistle blew. The guard came hurrying along the platform. Take your seats, please! Inspector Freeman glanced at the clock over their heads.

Five minutes to go, he announced. And I don’t fancy leaving Mike Maloney even that long just here. Perhaps we shall meet later, Mr Hawke.

He hurried away, and Hawke and Tommy went forward in search of the dining saloon.

Well, Tommy, Hawke reflected cheerfully as they settled themselves at their tables, we have one fellow passenger we didn’t expect, anyway.

Tommy grimaced as he handed his employer the menu. I hope we don’t see any more of him either, he returned. If I had to look at Mike Maloney’s face for five minutes, close to, I shouldn’t sleep for a week.

CHAPTER 2: THE WIND THAT CHANGED

It is an amazing feature of the story of what has come to be known as the Mid-Channel Murders that not a single passenger aboard that train—as she rushed through the night towards the Port of Dover—could have had any idea of the full horrors that lay ahead before the nerve-racked passengers were to see the coast of France.

Only the wind could have known. The wind changed. The fog was no more than a helpless servant of the wind.

Dixon Hawke was thoughtfully silent during the first part of dinner. Tommy Burke waited until the waiter had removed the remains of the second course, and then he pushed a penny across the table hopefully. The detective smiled—and accepted it.

I was deploring your lack of logic, my lad, he confided with a twinkle. Do you remember saying earlier this evening that this was just the sort of train on which we might least expect to find interesting passengers?

Tommy flushed. I certainly do, guv’nor. I can’t imagine anyone travelling to the continent in weather like this, even on this luxury train, unless he had to.

Exactly! Hawke interrupted. Unless he had to. Isn’t that the reason why the passengers should be interesting—because they have all, presumably, urgent or important reasons for wanting to get to Paris or Brussels tomorrow morning?

Tommy swallowed the rebuke good-naturedly. He glanced over his shoulder and met the steel-cold stare of the German, who was shovelling food into his mouth with the stolid determination of his kind. The young man shuddered as he turned back to his employer.

I don’t particularly want to know his reason, he whispered grimly. It would probably freeze me. You were thinking of Sir Richard Standish, perhaps?

Hawke shrugged. Since you ask, my lad, I was.

Well, it does seem strange a chap quarrelling with a fellow when he’s taking him to France to be his best man.

The tension between Standish and Cantley was electric, Hawke agreed. "Moreover, Standish was obviously loth to talk about the wedding. Still more interesting, why did he leave it until the last minute to dash over to France for his wedding? Why didn’t he fly over this morning before the services were suspended? Or take the afternoon boat we had hoped to travel by?

And to proceed, my lad, he went on humorously, if we had missed this train, we should have missed seeing Mike Moloney in the flesh.

Tommy looked over his employer’s shoulder. You can see him at close quarters right now, guvnor, he murmured. He’s here.

The American gangster had entered the saloon with his guards in close attention, and he took his seat at an end table. He ordered a lavish meal for himself and his companions and made every effort to advertise, rather than conceal, his identity.

I know my rights, you guys, he boasted. You can’t treat me like a convicted prisoner. You’re only here to see I go outa the country. I can pay for my eats, so I eat, see? And say, where’s this guy, Dixon Hawke? You were tellin’ each other was on this train? Why, that’s him, right there! he exclaimed as the detective glanced over his shoulder. And before Inspector Freeman and Sergeant Dalby could stop him, he had pushed his way to Hawke’s table.

Grinning all over his evil face, he held out a hairy palm. Say, Mister Dixon Hawke, I’ve wanted to meet yer all my life! Got quite a name in the States, you have. A name for brains. This is a moment fer both of us to remember, guy. Shake!

It was an awkward moment, but there was only the German Franz Groot in this part of the saloon. Maloney looked as if he might cause trouble, however, if he wasn’t humoured. Hawke rose, smiling, and invited him to take the vacant place next to Tommy. He beckoned Freeman to sit down next to himself.

Why not eat with us, Maloney? he suggested, to the gangster’s obvious pleasure. "This is the first and last chance we may