The drunken sailor lurched from the bar of the Happy Ram in Medley Street, London docks. He had just completed yet another eight month voyage, and dressed in his civies and wearing the service cap, he set off towards his penny digs.
The fog had thickened as he zig-zagged down the alley way, stumbling as he entered Larson Road.
“Never drink more than three rums me hearty,” he slurred as the clomping sound of hooves approached.
He strained his eyes through the gloom.
“What goes on there?”
His eyes widened at a hideous sight. A huge luminous coach, driven by a skeletal figure, was bearing down upon him.
The unfortunate man only had time to scream, before the wheels crushed him to a bloody pulp.
“Did you have to accost that old gent?” Jones asked, as Selby made himself comfortable.
“He nearly ran us over old man. What else did you expect me to do.”
“The poor codger was half blind.”
“Then he should not have been driving.”
The knock at the flat door interrupted their conversation and moments later Inspector Campbell entered.
“Enjoy your holiday?”
Jones grinned.
“Quite relaxing. As long as you are not a pensioner.”
Selby scowled and asked, “What can we do for you today?”
The Inspector looked rather uncomfortable.
“A rather delicate case has crossed my desk. It could do with your expert eye.”
The detective glanced at his friend.
“Here that Jones. Expert eye. You had better tell me about it.”
The Inspector related the cold facts as the detective looked on. When the account had ended, Jones asked, “Any witnesses?”
“Just a crazy old woman who swears it was a phantom coach.”
Selby glanced at Jones.
“We should talk to her my friend. Crazy or not, she must be heard.”
At the corner of Larson Road, above a sweet shop, stood the home of the crazy woman. She was a sprightly eighty year old who was often rather inebriated.
“I tell you sir, tis was a damn ghost that killed the sailor.”
“You saw it?” Jones asked.
“As clear as day sir. I was gazing out the window when it struck him dead.”
“Describe it to us,” Selby said slowly.
The woman’s eyes rolled for a moment, “Tis was a glowing white and rode by Satan.”
“Come on now,” Selby said. “That is rather far fetched.”
“You were not there sir. A skeleton it was.”
Standing outside, the two gents glanced at each other.
“The woman’s quite batty you know,” Jones said.
“I don’t think so old man. That emotion was genuine.”
“How can that be genuine Selby? Ghost coaches just don’t exist.”
“Perhaps not, but fluorescence does.”
“I don’t quite follow,” Jones admitted.
“The horse and coach must have been dowsed in the stuff. As for Satan, well, a man in a mask obviously.”
“For what reason though?” Jones asked. “The victim was not that important.”
“I think the answer to that one lies upon his ship.”
When they found the vessel at anchor, Jones was none too impressed. A simple sloop it was, captained by an uncouth man who sported a filthy beard.
“So you want to know all about him do you?”
“That would be terribly helpful sir,” Selby said.
“He was a jolly hard worker but a little loose with the booze. I had to lock him up a few times.”
“Was he a gambler?” Jones asked.
“He didn’t know when to stop,” the captain replied.
“So he ran up debts then,” the detective commented.
“Like there was no tomorrow.”
As Jones figured that one out, Selby tapped his shoulder.
“A trip to that boozer is required old man. The answer to the puzzle certainly lies there.”
The barman at the Happy Ram certainly remembered the unfortunate sailor.
“When he left here, he was pretty far gone.”
“Who was he drinking with?” Selby asked.
“A middle-aged chap who goes by the name of Rodgers.”
“What does he do for a living?” Jones asked.
“He runs a coach you know. Wealthy folks only you understand.”
Selby gazed at the barman seriously.
“Where can we see him?”
The barman thought back for a moment.
“Wayward Yard is the place. He’ll be glad to see you.”
As they made their way to the yard, Selby pieced the puzzle together.
“They must have had an argument over a gambling debt old man, and Rodgers decided to give him a fright.”
“So he posed as the ghost coach?”
“Exactly. Probably never intended to harm him though.”
Wayward Yard was quiet as the two gents entered carefully. Selby spotted the tell-tale luminous splotches upon the ground.
“We have our man Jones. Now just be careful.”
At the far end, two massive doors swung open and a huge coach trundled towards them. Sitting upon the driver’s seat was the masked miscreant.
“Look out!” Selby said pushing his friend aside.
The coach bore down, and at the last moment Selby jumped onto the foot step and grabbed the miscreant’s arm.
“Slow down man.”
“Get stuffed.”
Selby balled his fist and struck him hard. The driver reeled and toppled off as the coach lurched to the left. A hellish scream rent the air as the rear wheel crushed the life out of him.
The detective grabbed the reins and brought the carriage to a rapid halt.
“It’s up for him,” Jones said staring at the smashed corpse.
Selby shook his head sadly.
“The gambler paid too high a price for my liking.”