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diff --git a/78883-0.txt b/78883-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..30c8865 --- /dev/null +++ b/78883-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9445 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78883 *** + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: +_italics_. + + + + +[Illustration: (Steeple Tollesbury with Loring Grange & surrounding +country)] + + + + + THE MAN FROM THE RIVER + + + + + BY G. D. H. AND M. COLE + + + THE BLATCHINGTON TANGLE + THE MURDER AT CROME HOUSE + THE DEATH OF A MILLIONAIRE + + + + + + + + + + THE MAN + FROM THE RIVER + + A WILSON STORY + + BY + G. D. H. COLE + AND + MARGARET COLE + + + New York + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + 1928 + _All rights reserved_ + + + + + Copyright, 1928, + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + + Printed in the United States of America + + + + + THE MAN FROM THE RIVER + + + + + THE MAN FROM THE RIVER + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +“Thank goodness! Wilson’s coming to-day,” was the first thought of +Michael Prendergast, M.D., F.R.C.S., and “rising consultant” of +Harley Street, as he woke on a glorious July morning in his bed at +the Old Malting House, Steeple Tollesbury. + +Michael Prendergast was not unlike many other people in that, +while he remained in London and perforce went through a certain +round of daily toil and daily pleasure, he complained bitterly of +the continual presence of people and yearned for green fields and +solitude; but as soon as he found himself actually solitary in a +green field, he tired at once of his own company and began to pine +for the society of a friend. It was the first of these moods that had +sent him down to the sleepy little Essex town, and suggested that he +should take up his quarters rather at the pleasant old inn than six +miles away at the house of his friend, Mark Warden, who had actually +introduced him to the place; it was the second that, after only a +week of “solitude,” had urged him to the ’phone to ring up that same +Warden, and on finding that he was away in Colchester on business and +not expected back for some days, had suggested a frantic appeal to +Mr. Henry Wilson, Superintendent of the C.I.D., to put aside official +cares and join him, if only for two or three days. And now Wilson was +really coming! In the light of his impending arrival, the morning +looked twice as fine, and the little cobbled market-square reclothed +itself in the romance it had worn when Michael first set eyes on it. + +Indeed, it was hardly the fault of Steeple Tollesbury that restless +London nerves would not stay contented with it. It is emphatically +a place which possesses all the charm of past greatness and present +peace. Two centuries ago it was a busy little port, with its small +but thriving fleet of colliers plying to and from the Tyne with +“sea-coals,” and its respectable trade in various kinds of produce +with the Dutch coast. But this glory has long departed. The old +harbour at Tolleshithe has silted up; any produce that is still +exported goes unromantically (though still as slowly) by train to +London, and the best Wallsend arrives by the same route, though an +occasional string of coal barges may yet be seen ambling gently +up the Toll to Market Crumbles, the little town ten miles inland. +To-day, though a few buildings such as the ridiculously large church, +the great tithe-barn, and the Guild House, where young men and women +are herded to hear the Vicar’s periodical discourses, remain as +evidence of former greatness, Steeple Tollesbury is, in fact, the +sleepiest township of that remote and sleepy district which lies +between the estuaries of the Blackwater and the Crouch. + +One of the aforesaid buildings is undoubtedly the inn, which goes by +the name of the Old Malting House. It stands by the side of the Toll, +one of its sides dropping sheer down into the water, facing a little +stone wharf which is now seldom used, and a hundred yards or so above +the old and narrow bridge, where the approach of an adventurous or +bemused motor-car makes the pedestrian scuttle for safety into one +of the stone embrasures. It is fourteenth century in design; its +restorations have blended excellently with the old lines; roses and +creepers run riot over its face; and, best of all, in cooking, in +wines, and hospitality generally, it has remembered more of its old +tradition than is always the case in forgotten towns. Its landlord is +a gossip, and a pint of Guinness will always start him off; it has +pewter mugs and oak settles and great log fires; in short, it is a +peach of an inn. + +So, at least, Michael Prendergast thought, when Warden took him to +dine there on a chilly autumn day, in part payment, as he put it, for +first-aid administered on the cricket-field. It seemed so much the +acme of desire then, sitting hospitably permanent in the middle of +that secret and sometimes terrifying countryside--the part of England +where real ghosts still live--that he had pigeon-holed it in his mind +as a place to revisit--even, perhaps, without his friend. For Mark +Warden was one of those cheerful and hearty souls who, in certain +moods to which Michael was as prone as most intellectuals, seem to +be always saying the same thing in a loud voice, as if it had just +occurred to them; and whose perplexities, when they have any, appear +to them so much a violation of the natural order of the universe that +they must complain loudly of them at all hours, at breakfast, dinner, +and tea, until the tiresome thing is at last settled or forgotten. +And Mark Warden, during the past winter, had been abruptly introduced +to perplexity as a result of his decision to retire from the pleasant +existence of a county cricketer, abandon the West Indian tour, and +take seriously at last the position of junior--very junior--partner +in the firm of stockbrokers which his father had founded, and had +thence retired, owing to advancing years and a stroke, for his +last act bringing in Mark as an innocent fledgling. Whether the +fledgling’s decision to take a real part in the business had been +prompted by the broken knee-cap to which Michael had attended, or by +the growth of his desire to marry a neighbouring young lady, was not +very clear; at all events the mysteries of law, finance, and love +combined had had a serious effect on him, causing him very quickly to +tear his hair and naïvely to come and lay his troubles, in season and +out of season, before his new friend, in whose superior brains he had +a complete and touching confidence. Michael knew nothing of finance +and law, and cared less; and so, when he decided he was run down and +must take a holiday, he had quite firmly decided that, though the Old +Malting House was the place for him, Mark Warden was emphatically not +the companion. + +Not, indeed, that he could quite escape from his friend’s +personality. Hellier Croft, the Wardens’ country home, was only six +miles away across country, though nearer fourteen by the tortuous +Essex roads. The family was an old one, and well known in the +neighbourhood; and, if you stand a landlord a pint of stout, you must +bear with the subjects of conversation he chooses. Samuel Wason, +landlord of the Old Malting House, and fat and cheerful as such a +landlord should be, had a very high opinion of old John Warden, as a +judge both of horseflesh and of investments, and deeply regretted his +illness. His son seemed equally popular; but it was clear that he was +regarded as an ornament of society rather than a pillar; and Michael +reflected with amusement how hurt Mark would have been at Warden’s +genuine regret that he should be leaving the cricket-field--implying, +in the way he put it, a distinct reflection on the heir’s business +abilities. This was all in the correct tradition, the slightly +patronising pride in the gay but brainless youth; but Michael was +a little perturbed to notice a certain tinge of doubt in the way +in which Wason spoke of the firm. It seemed that the firm was not +what it had been in old Warden’s time; there were rumours of shaky +investments, possible speculations, and one or two old clients +transferring their business elsewhere. Mr. Hanborough, he that on old +Warden’s retirement had become senior partner, didn’t belong to these +parts, had come from London and never quite been taken to--though +old Mr. Warden, he backed him through thick and thin. Oh, no, there +wasn’t nothing against him that Wason knew of; he was different-like, +and it wasn’t the same, that was all. Michael began to feel that he +had perhaps been over-contemptuous of Mark Warden’s troubles, that +they might after all be more than the instinctive protests of the +butterfly bound to the business wheel, and in a mood of repentance +had tried vainly to get into touch with him. + +Then, of course, the second partner, Mr. Meston----At this point, +Michael’s thoughts, recapitulating as he lay in bed, gave a sudden +jump of delight. “Thank God _that_ fellow’s gone, at any rate!” was +how he phrased it. For, of course, the real objection to solitude +in the countryside is that it never _is_ solitude. There are always +Mr. Mestons. One does not, naturally, mean by solitude a desert +loneliness; innkeepers, potmen, tap-room habitués, even garrulous +visitors like that old solicitor fellow--what’s his name?--Brandreth, +of course--all these are local colour, and fit in with the picture. +Besides, one need not talk to them unless one likes; one can keep out +of the bar, sit upstairs or go for a walk, and they will not pursue. +But a creature like Meston, with his lank hair, his gloomy face, his +vast Adam’s apple, and his perpetual boring presence--what can be +done with him? + +Mr. Meston, middle partner of the Warden firm, who, till four or five +days ago, had shared the hospitality of the Old Malting House with +Michael, could certainly not have been called a cheerful companion. +He was by origin a clerk in that firm, who had grown, or was about +to grow, grey in its service, and who had been rewarded with a +partnership by old John Warden. Faithful he might be, but he was +neither beautiful nor entertaining. As already hinted, he was long, +lean, and scraggy, of a sallow, rather unhealthy complexion, gloomily +dressed in Sunday blacks, and showing a great tendency to protrude +bony purplish wrists from his coat-sleeves. He was also singularly +melancholy in manner--more depressed, Michael felt, even than his +physical appearance warranted--and he seemed to have nothing to do +but to moon miserably about the inn and the market-square in front +of it. All this would have mattered little, however, if the creature +had not obviously had something on its mind, something about which it +ardently and horribly desired to talk to Michael. It was hardly safe +to try to entice it into ordinary conversation; almost at once the +talk would languish, it would begin to fidget with the salt-cellar +or the fire-irons, and into its eye would come that yearning look +peculiar to people who are just about to unbosom themselves. Michael, +having fled from the possibility of Warden’s confidences, was by +no means inclined to suffer the same treatment at the hands of a +snuffling undertaker, as he unkindly termed his fellow-visitor; +more especially as it was at least possible that the undertaker’s +confidences might concern Warden, and Michael did not at all want +to discuss his friend with him. For this reason he not only gave +the widest possible berth to Meston himself, but even discouraged +the landlord in various attempts to tell him “some things about Mr. +Meston.” Whatever was to be known about Meston, Michael felt, he at +all events did not want to know it. He wanted to have as little to do +with the man as he could. + +At least, thank goodness, he was not here any longer, polluting +the sunshine. He had left, more or less unexpectedly, late in the +evening of the previous Friday, or early the following morning; and +the inn was perceptibly the brighter for his departure. What with +that, and the immediate prospect of a friend who could be relied +upon not to burden him with confidences of any kind, Michael felt so +benevolent as he descended to breakfast, that he even, with a kind +of overflowing of goodwill, asked the landlord whether he had heard +anything of Mr. Meston. + +“Only wish I had,” Wason replied. “It’s a nuisance to me, not knowing +when he’s coming back and whether he’ll want to stay, when he does. +Packed his baggage and all, too; looks as though he wasn’t going to +stay. But it’s not like Mr. Meston to go on paying for a room when he +needn’t.” + +“Perhaps he doesn’t know he is. Perhaps he’s just forgotten,” Michael +suggested. + +“Forgotten? Not he. Mr. Meston, he’ve the longest memory in these +parts for small things. Take care of a penny, he would--if it meant +holding it in his mouth till Land’s End. No, that’s not like him. +It don’t matter to me, much; we’re not overfull, as you can see for +yourself. But his room’s the best in the place, and it’s a confusion +to me not knowing whether he wants to keep it or not. Your friend +might ’a’ liked it, now, supposing I’d had it free.” + +“Oh, I think he’ll do very well where he is,” Michael said, +suppressing none the less a slight regret at the loss of Meston’s +room, which was indeed very attractive, being a long, low, oak-beamed +room overlooking the river, and the only bedroom which looked out +that side. As it was, Wilson must perforce be accommodated in a +pleasant, but completely modern, room overlooking the cobbled +market-place and not far from Michael’s own. + +“London gentleman, isn’t he?” Wason continued. “What time will he be +arriving, now?” + +“Oh, some time this afternoon. I’m not sure when. He’s coming by +car,” Michael said, wondering how often Wilson must have thanked +his stars for his inconspicuous name. It is true that since the +Brooklyn Case,[1] and still more since other problems in crime which +he had triumphantly solved, Wilson’s name had become something +of a national byword; but Henry Wilsons are still as common as +blackberries in England, and there was no particular danger that +this particular one’s incognito would be pierced during his stay at +Steeple Tollesbury. For, of course, he was coming down incognito. A +distinguished detective must of necessity eschew certain forms of +publicity which delight a distinguished film-actor, for example. +He does not want either his autograph or his likeness to figure +prominently in the picture-press; still less does he want to be +thronged by an admiring crowd wherever he goes. If the Superintendent +had been called Sherlock Holmes, now, the whole of the market-place +would already have been black with sightseers; but Henry Wilson! Even +though he had only just brought to a conclusion his most spectacular +case, it was hardly likely that a single village eye would be batted +for his arrival. Unless, indeed, a crime were to occur; but Michael +had yet to see a place which less suggested crime than Steeple +Tollesbury. + +As he stood in the inn doorway, drinking in deep draughts of sun, +there was the purr of an engine, and a long racing car dashed over +the bridge and turned down into the square. A man with what Michael +felt to be an altogether unnecessarily good-looking profile and a +mass of curly hair was at the wheel. + +“Who’s that--cinema gentleman?” he said; “do you know? And why does +he think he’s Jehu?” + +“Why, that’s Wallace Burden,” the landlord said, turning Michael’s +scornful remark into a compliment. Wallace Burden bid fair at the +moment to climb to Valentino’s vacant pedestal. “He always drives +like that. He’ll be going up to Lorings’--to the Grange--I shouldn’t +wonder.” + +“Well, I don’t like him,” Michael pronounced. + +“There’s them that does, though,” the landlord said darkly. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] See _The Brooklyn Murders_, by G. D. H. Cole. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +Well-lined with eggs and bacon and marmalade, Michael Prendergast +walked out of the inn into the market-place, and prepared to take a +constitutional. He strolled in a leisurely way, basking in the lovely +morning, along the High Street, which sloped slightly up to the +bridge over the river, to the cross-roads, where diverged the road to +Loring Grange, the home of the chief of the local gentry. He ambled +gently in and out of the chestnut trees; stopped to pat a nondescript +dog which was too contented already to make more than the most meagre +of responses; lounged into the barber’s and bought some shaving-soap +for no particular reason; and was regaled in return with selections +of the morning’s gossip. There had been a railway accident somewhere +in America--“terrible, how many them foreign railways kill.” The +wireless last night had given some advice to farmers, which the +farmers of Tollesbury neighbourhood very much resented: + + “His wife and he’s got fourteen kids, + But a can’t keep flies off tarmits,” + +the barber quoted scornfully. Mr. Wallace Burden had run over a pig +at South Meadon, and the owner was going up to the Grange to demand +compensation--“His girl wants to get on films, so she does,” etc., +etc. Michael stayed in the shop until he felt well-soaked, and then +wandered on up one of the side-streets, where the pleasantest old +houses stood, until he came to that belonging to a Mr. Brandreth, +an old retired solicitor, whose habit of dropping in to the Old +Malting House for a pipe and a gossip had thrown him once or twice +in Michael’s way. Michael had half intended to stop and chat; he +found old Brandreth an amusing character in his way, and he had some +thoughts of making judicious inquiries about Mark Warden’s firm. But +when he got to the lawyer’s gate he saw the latter in conversation +with so unprepossessing a man that he changed his mind, and walked on +into the country, idly wondering what Brandreth could have in common +with a man who looked like the more disreputable type of city tout. +Even his bowler, Michael thought, apart from his loud check tweeds +and his roving eye, would have induced any one to give him a wide +berth. But Brandreth appeared to be having quite a chat with him. +“Still,” Michael thought, “I suppose solicitors, even ex-solicitors, +must come into contact with a good many shady customers”; and he +remembered vaguely having heard his landlord mention that Brandreth +was something of a thorn in the side of the local bench, as he had +an incurable propensity for taking up the causes of those accused of +crimes, which the said bench held most unpardonable. “I wouldn’t take +up that chap’s case, though, not if you gave me a thousand pounds,” +said Michael to himself. “However, the old boy’s tastes aren’t any +business of mine.” + +His walk led him in a half-circle round the outskirts of the little +town, and eventually back to the far end of the bridge near by his +own inn. It was not yet quite time for lunch, and as, in accordance +with principle, he had duly sampled the bitters provided by the two +pubs which he had passed, he saw no reason to waste the sunshine by +going indoors. Instead, he sat down on a ledge of one of the stone +embrasures, lit a pipe, and gave himself up to meditation; and +what with the pipe, the sun, and the bitters, he became so nearly +unconscious of his surroundings that, when a shout of “Hi, mister!” +rent the air, he started up so abruptly that he almost lost his +balance and fell in the river. + +But the shout was not meant for him. It appeared to be meant for a +rubicund man with a clay pipe in his mouth, who was standing almost +at his elbow, staring down at a little steam-tug which was just about +to pass under the bridge. With rather a sense of having made a fool +of himself, Michael realised that he must have been fairly sound +asleep to let the rubicund gentleman get so close to him without +noticing, for when he sat down, neither he nor the tug had been in +sight. As his senses slowly returned, he perceived that the shout had +come from a man standing on the deck of the tug, which was pulling a +couple of coal-barges down-stream. + +“Eh?” said the man on the bridge, without removing his pipe from his +mouth. + +“Where be doctor?” shouted the man in the tug. + +“Doctor’s up along Mrs. Clellan’s,” was the reply. “What’s the +matter, Jarge? Been swallerin’ weeds?” + +“Ain’t been swallerin’ nothin’,” Jarge replied, with a guffaw. +“Bill’s gone an’ fished up a carpse for doctor.” + +“Carpse! Holy Moses!” said the man on the bridge, and began to move +in a lumbering fashion towards the scene of action. Michael followed +him, his professional instincts fully awakened at the word. + +“Eh? What’s that you say?” said a new voice, as the landlord of the +Old Malting House strolled up to the bridge and leaned over. + +“Carpse ’e’s fished up, ’e ’as,” said Jarge, obviously proud of his +own importance. “You like to have a look at her, Mr. Wason? She came +from along your place.” + +“I’ll come down,” said the landlord. “Pull into the tow-path, will +you? And you, Tommy”--catching hold of an urchin in the roadway--“get +up along Mrs. Clellan’s and tell Doctor Kershaw he’s wanted here, +will you? Some one’s fallen in the river. Look sharp, my lad.” The +urchin was off at top speed almost before the words were out of his +mouth, and Wason, with Michael and the man with the pipe, made his +way rapidly down to the tow-path on the far side of the bridge, and +stood there expectant, while with much puffing and blowing the tug +put about and drew its train in to the bank. + +“I’d better have a look at the body,” Michael said to Wason, “just +in case Dr. Kershaw can’t be found. The poor fellow may not be dead. +I’m a doctor,” he added for the benefit of the company. Jarge gave +another loud guffaw. + +“You can look at ’un and welcome,” he said. “Ain’t our private +exhibition. But he’s dead enough, you’ll find. Been a-soaking for +days, looks like. He’s in the tail-barge, thar. Bill!” A man who was +squatting in the tail-barge looked up inquiringly. “Gent wants to +see carpse. Says he’s a doctor,” he added. + +“Let ’un,” said Bill, who seemed to be of a taciturn and incurious +disposition; for he said nothing else, but sat and sucked at his +pipe while Michael and Wason with some difficulty scrambled into the +hindermost barge. The body lay on its face, covered with mud and +slime. + +“Well, _he’s_ dead enough,” said the landlord. “Not much for you +there, sir.” + +There was certainly no doubt that the man was dead, and had been in +the water for some time. The clothes were sodden and besmirched, and +the legs covered with mire and waterweed, though the upper part of +the body was comparatively free. + +“Give me a hand with him, will you?” said Michael, going down on his +knees and beginning to turn the body over. Wason, looking as if he +did not particularly relish the job, bent down and took hold; but as +the body slowly turned over, and the swollen, discoloured face came +into view, he gave an exclamation and all but let it fall back again. + +“Good God! Why, it’s Mr. Meston!” + +“What’s that, Sam?” With a bound of surprising agility, considering +his bulk, the stout onlooker sprang into the barge, and gazed down at +the corpse’s face. + +“Holy Moses!” he said again. + +Michael looked down at the body. Whether or no he would, unprompted, +have recognised in that horrid misshapen thing his morose +fellow-visitor, there was no doubt that the landlord was right. This +was William Meston--dead. And how had he come by his death? + +“Some one’ll have to tell his wife,” Wason was saying. + +“Aye, that’s right,” said the rubicund gentleman. “_Somebody_ will.” +For some reason this observation appeared to strike him as extremely +humorous, for he gurgled and slapped his thigh several times. +“_Somebody’ll_ have to tell her, eh? Lard, think o’ that there Meston +a-going and getting hisself drarned! Insured for a tidy bit, too, +I’ll be bound. Eh, Sam?” + +“He’s been dead some time. Three or four days at least,” said +Michael, looking up from his examination. + +“Strikes me,” the landlord said reflectively, “as though he must just +’a’ walked off the tow-path into the river the minute he left the +inn, and got drowned. Hasn’t paid his bill, neither, I don’t mind +telling you.” + +“Couldn’t ’a’ done that neither,” said the rubicund one, looking +along the flat line of the tow-path, “not unless he’d had _a drop +taken_. And _you’ve_ reason to know he never had, Sam.” + +“That’s true. He wasn’t no good for trade, poor gentleman,” the +landlord said. “Nevertheless there he is, fallen in.” + +“Fallen in!” said the other scornfully. “Where’s your knowledge of +yooman nature, Sam? Sooicide, that’s what it is. ’E done ’isself in, +along of ’is wife’s goings-on at the Grange. It’s God’s judgment on +the Scarlet Woman, that’s what it is.” + +“Now, you shut up, Walter,” said the landlord. “It’s not decent, +going on that way, and his body hardly fished up yet. There’s plenty +of ways a man can fall into a river without being drunk. Lard, if +you was to live along this river same as I do, you wouldn’t need to +wonder the fool things folks can do, and they as sober as charches. +What do you say, sir? Did he fall in? Though I suppose it isn’t +hardly a medical point, so to speak?” + +“It was sooicide,” Walter repeated obstinately. “Now, in the first +place, ’e was drarned. You grant me that, eh?” He waved his pipe at +the landlord to emphasise his argument. + +“Oh, aye, I grant you that,” the latter replied. + +“But that’s exactly what I don’t grant either of you,” Michael +interrupted. With one ear on the dialogue, he had been making a hasty +examination of the body. “He wasn’t drowned.” + +Both his hearers gaped. + +“Garn!” said Walter, indicating the corpse with his foot. “Tell me +_that_ ain’t drarned?” + +Wason approached nearer the corpse and scratched his head. “I don’t +belong to London,” he said, “but I’ve seen drowned men, and I ain’t +often seen a drowneder.” + +“Oh, he’s been in the water all right,” Michael said, “if that’s what +you mean. But----” + +“What’s all this?” an educated voice interrupted in a sharp, +impatient tone; and a man on a bicycle shot down the tow-path, and +sprang on the barge, flinging the bicycle into the thistles. “What’s +all this? And what are you all doing here?” + +“It’s Mr. Meston, doctor,” Wason volunteered. “He’s drowned--at +least----” + +“Oh, is it?” Dr. Kershaw, if it was he, responded abruptly. “Well, +that’s as may be. But it doesn’t tell me who all these other people +are.” + +“My name’s Prendergast,” said Michael. “I happened to be here when +the body was found, and I came on board to see if there was anything +to be done for him.” He produced his professional card, at which the +other barely glanced before thrusting it away into a pocket. + +“Well, my name’s Kershaw,” he said, without reciprocating the +courtesy; “and this appears to be my business. I’m the police-surgeon +hereabouts; and the man’s obviously dead. So I don’t think I need +trouble you any longer, Dr. Prendergast.” He knelt down beside the +body, but immediately gave an irritated twitch of his shoulders, like +a man pestered with flies. “How the hell can I do my job, with half a +hundred of you crowding round? Keep back, will you?” + +Michael stepped back obediently, but only a little way, for he was +very much interested in the result of Dr. Kershaw’s examination. The +latter felt the man over rapidly, with long, nervous fingers. + +“Where’d you find him?” he asked Bill, who had never moved from his +seat. + +“Up along thar,” Bill replied, taking his pipe from his mouth and +pointing vaguely up-stream. “Long of Malting House Wharf. Something +fouled t’ barges, an’ Jarge ’e said ’e seen a face looking up in +water, and I hooked ’un up wi’ boat-hook. Darn near broke my arm, +too,” said Bill in an injured tone. + +“See, sir,” Jarge put in, “I was up forward, an’ first we hit summat, +and then I seen ’er in the water; and there wasn’t ’ardly any way on, +so we stopped a’most dead. And Bill could reach ’un, so I calls to +him to haul ’un in.” + +“Near broke my arm, too,” Bill repeated sourly. + +“Whew-w!” the landlord of the Old Malting House whistled. “Right +thar by my inn, did you? Why, it looks a’most as though he must have +fallen in clean out of his own windows. The water’s deep thar, sir,” +he said to the doctor, “and there’s nothing to climb out by.” + +“It was sooicide,” said Walter firmly. “Threw ’isself out of window. +That’s my view, doctor.” + +Dr. Kershaw looked round with increased irritation. “Nobody asked +your views, Hicks,” he said. “Here he is drowned. It’s the coroner’s +job to say how or why. You go and tell Linton to hurry up with that +stretcher.” + +“Excuse me,” Michael, still rather sore at his summary dismissal, +interrupted, “but are you sure he was drowned?” + +Kershaw swung round fiercely at him. “What! _another_ of you!” he +said. “This isn’t a public demonstration.” + +“It looks to me,” Michael said, as mildly as he could manage, “as if +the cause of death was not drowning but a broken neck. You can see +his neck’s broken.” + +The police doctor snorted. “Are you suggesting I don’t know my +business? Of course I can see his neck’s broken.” + +“Broke it when he fell, likely,” said the landlord. + +“Just so,” said the doctor. + +“Do you mean he hit his head?” Michael asked. “Is there a blow? I +didn’t see----” + +“I don’t know what there is or there isn’t, till I’ve had a proper +look at him,” Kershaw snapped. “And, in any case, I don’t conduct +examinations on the decks of barges. I do my work in the mortuary. +Oh, there you are at last, Linton,” he said to a police-sergeant who +had just appeared with two constables and a stretcher. “Get this body +to the mortuary at once, will you? They say it’s Mr. Meston’s. These +two men found it. I suppose you’ll make a note of where it was, and +how they found it, won’t you? And somebody ought to take a message +to Mrs. Meston up at the Grange. And you might clear this lot away. +We don’t want people hanging about. If you’ll get the body to the +mortuary quickly, I’ll have a look at it there. Oh, confound you, get +out of the road!” He had leaped ashore and picked up his bicycle as +he spoke, and the exclamation was directed to a crowd of sightseers, +who were endeavouring to push their way along the tow-path. Foremost +among them, Michael recognised the tout-like person whom he had last +seen at Mr. Brandreth’s gate. + +“For God’s sake,” said Kershaw to one of the constables, “clear this +lot of gapers out!” + +“Nah, then, get a move on, boys,” said the constable. + +The tout-like person plucked at Kershaw’s sleeve. “Beg pardon, +doctor,” he said in a voice that admirably fitted his clothes, “but +did I understand you to say that was Mr. Meston’s body?” + +“Why, do you know him?” Kershaw asked impatiently. + +“No, but I’m very interested in his whereabouts,” the man replied, +“--for reasons.” + +“Well, if you don’t know him you’re no use here,” Kershaw said. “It’s +none of my business to say who he was. I’m not the coroner. If you +want to know who he was you’d better attend the inquest. I expect +they’ll know his identity by then. Now, then, out of the way, all of +you. I’m in a hurry.” And with a final curse he succeeded in pushing +his bicycle through the crowd, and a moment later the bell was heard +furiously ringing as he crossed the bridge. + +“It _is_ Mr. Meston, though, all right,” said Wason to the +discomfited inquirer. “You needn’t worry about that. It’s him.” + +“Oh, indeed,” the man said, licking his lips. “And he’s dead, is he? +How did he come to die, might I ask?” + +“Well, now, that’s a bit of a puzzler, seemingly,” Wason said, +beginning to assume a pontifical air. “You and me, seeing him come +out of the water like that, we’d say he was drowned and no mistaking. +But this gentleman,” indicating Michael, “he’s a doctor, and _he_ +says he broke his neck. You’re quite sure he wasn’t drowned, aren’t +you, sir?” he added. + +“Quite’s a big word,” said Michael; “and I didn’t get much of a look +at him. But I’m pretty sure it was the broken neck that killed him, +and I shall be surprised if Dr. Kershaw doesn’t say the same when +he’s finished his examination. But you needn’t spread this about, +you know,” he said rather sharply to the man in the bowler, who was +goggling at the information, “or you, Wason. I don’t want to find +myself involved in a row with Dr. Kershaw, and, judging from his +amiable manners, I should say he wouldn’t be slow in starting one.” + +The landlord chuckled. “He’s a rough-tongued one, and no mistake. +There’s plenty about’ll say the same. I should think he’d a touch of +his liver this morning, though. I’ve not often seen him so sharp.” + +“Sharp with me,” Michael muttered; “but not very sharp with the +corpse.” + +“Oh, he’s no fool, Dr. Kershaw,” Wason assured him. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +Pondering deeply (for he was very much annoyed) on Dr. Kershaw’s +manners or lack of manners, Michael followed the crowd towards the +inn, and was not at all soothed to find that he had apparently +attached to himself the man in the bowler, who followed at his elbow, +telling interminable stories of relations and friends of his who had +been cut off by violent deaths, interspersed with inquiries into the +habits of the late Mr. Meston. + +“I know nothing at all about him, I tell you,” Michael said in +desperation. “I don’t suppose we’d exchanged a dozen words, all told.” + +“But being in the same hotel, sir,” the man persisted, “you must +have formed a himpression, if I may say so. You could tell me if +the deceased seemed cheerful in his manner, you know, or restless, +perhaps. Any little thing that suggested to you what his mood was, +you know.” + +“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything,” Michael said untruthfully, +for the late Mr. Meston’s mood was of the kind which made itself +apparent without any intercourse whatever. But he disliked the +inquirer exceedingly, and was quite determined that if he nosed out a +newspaper story about the poor corpse, it should not be through him. +Fortunately, the end of his purgatory approached, for they reached +the inn door, and Michael, passing into the bar, plunged into a +hubbub of delighted conversation. + +Wason, who held the floor, was retailing, for the fourth or fifth +time it would appear, his account of the finding of the body. Seeing +Michael enter, he broke off the narrative to give a brief description +of Michael’s views of Kershaw’s manners. There was a general roar of +laughter. + +“Doctor, he thinks he’s Scotland Yard and God A’mighty too, these +days,” said one. “It’s all along o’ being so thick wi’ Squire.” + +“Lard, he’s always as cross as two sticks,” another said. “I remember +when my missus had her last, he pretty near had us art of harse.” + +“Must be gettin’ used to it, by this time, William,” was the answer, +provoking another general laugh. + +“Aye, but did ye hear the trick a played on Joe Billings, Friday +night?” another reminded them. “Two hours they was settin’ up for +him, and a didn’t come----” + +“Dancin’ at Squire’s, I’ll bet. They’d fine doin’s up thar, Friday +night.”--“Old Joe were hopping mad when a did come, but Karshaw, he +wouldn’t hear nothin’. Shut him up wi’ a flea in his mouth, a did.” + +“Where be corpse now?” put in an ancient. + +“Tommy Linton’s taken it along to mortuary. Us’ll get a look at it, +maybe. Tommy’s a kind soul.” + +“Yes, I couldn’t get near ’un at the barge,” another complained. + +“Ye didn’t miss much,” a newcomer said. “Doctor wouldn’t let us get +so much as a sniff of ’un.” + +“Aye, he ought to be a fine niffy feller,” cackled the ancient. + +“Whar’s corpse’s missus?” said a small wizened man. “She’ll ought to +be told.” + +“Whar d’ye think, Matthew? Up to Grange, o’ course.” + +“I’m thinkin’,” said the small man, looking round for applause, +“there’ll be one as’ll be main pleased carpse is found and the +drowneder the pleaseder, I’m thinking.” + +There was a general snigger, in the midst of which Walter Hicks’s +mutter of “Scarlet Woman, I sez. And sooicide, that’s what I sez,” +went unheard. + +A man dug Michael in the ribs. “He means Missis Meston,” he observed. +“It’s a known fact she couldn’t abide him.” + +“There’s more’n that’d be pleased as Punch to know he’s drowned,” the +small man went on. “There’d be more than pigs run over in Meadon if +some had their way.” + +“And that’s a fact,” the first speaker said truculently, as though he +expected to have it disputed. + +“Pigs or no pigs,” said the little man, “I’ve them in mind as’ll be +sorry enough they wasn’t down by the riverside to-day.” He raised +his glass. “Here’s to absent friends, boys,” he said, with a wink. +There was another guffaw, after which the conversation descended +into such abysses of allusiveness that Michael gave up the attempt +to understand, and made his way out to the front of the inn, where +another crowd was discussing the calamity with as much interest but +less esoteric information. His last vision was of his bowler-hatted +acquaintance eagerly buttonholing the little man. “Pah! the stinker!” +thought Michael to himself. “He’s worse than Dr. Kershaw,” he angrily +added. At that moment a car drew up at the Old Malting House. + +“Hullo, Michael!” a well-known voice called. “What’s the matter? You +look as though some one had stolen your savings.” + +“Harry!” All Michael’s troubles slid from him as he turned to greet +his friend. “I thought you couldn’t be here till after lunch.” + +“Nor ought I to have. What my respected colleagues will say of me I +can’t think. I’ve left half a dozen jobs for them to finish off. But +the weather tempted me, and I did come. What a populous neighbourhood +you seem to have chosen,” said Wilson, looking round. “Is it a +wedding, or an election?” + +“Neither. It’s a bit more in your line,” said Michael. “It’s a +corpse.” + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + +“My dear Michael,” Wilson said, as they sat smoking in the +bar-parlour after tea, “if this is to be a busman’s holiday, I wish +you’d say so at once, and let me make off while there’s yet time. +First you inveigle me into an inn with a corpse on its doorstep, then +you repeat a lot of apparently malicious but wholly unintelligible +gossip, and, to crown it all, you seem determined to quarrel with the +local police-surgeon.” + +“The man’s got the manners of a hog,” Michael said indignantly. “And +it looks to me as though his professional qualities were quite on +a par with his manners. He positively didn’t see the fellow’s neck +was broken, until I pointed it out! And then you’d have thought from +his tone I’d done him an injury instead of a service! These country +sawbones are a disgrace to the profession!” + +At this point, Wilson, whose smile had been growing broader and +broader as Michael detailed his woes, chuckled outright. “This is +magnificently righteous indignation,” he said. “Or is it natural +irritation--and unsatisfied curiosity?” + +“Well, nobody likes being talked to like that,” said Michael, +“especially when he’s in the right, and the man talking to him an +impudent ignoramus like Kershaw. And, of course, I wanted to have +the thing properly looked into. It’s an odd thing for a body to turn +up out of the river with a broken neck. Besides, what could he have +broken his neck on? The bottom’s all soft mud, hereabouts. And, +anyway, I’m not at all certain he broke his neck in a fall. There was +no sign of a contusion that I could see, and there must have been +if he’d hit something hard. But Kershaw was indignant at my even +suggesting he’d broken his neck.” + +“Or annoyed at your indiscretion, perhaps?” his companion suggested. +“I suggest that he wanted to keep that tit-bit for the inquest. You +know--‘Is it your view that death was caused by drowning, doctor?’ +‘No, sir, the man’s neck was broken!’ Sensation in Court. You +mustn’t grudge your country brother his little bit of publicity. +And seriously, I gather that Dr. Kershaw represents my profession +as well as yours; and mine, as you know, doesn’t believe in giving +the general public too much indiscriminate information. You were +indiscreet, Michael.” He smiled; but Michael was still in a blaze of +wrath. + +“I wasn’t,” he said indignantly. “I didn’t call attention to anything +that any fool couldn’t have seen with half an eye. And, anyway, no +London police-surgeon would treat a colleague like that, I hope.” + +“Alack! alack!” Wilson sighed. “How little you townsmen have to +know of the vanity and self-sufficiency of the provincial! Would +I could set up my plate in Baker Street, and never see a county +police-station again! All right, Michael, I was only pulling your +leg. I deeply sympathise. Let us agree that Dr. Kershaw is a cad and +a fool, and ought to be struck off the register. And now, that being +settled, will you tell me, really, why this body interests you?” + +“You old hypocrite, you know perfectly well why it interests me and +why you are asking me all these questions about it. This fellow, +Meston, has got a broken neck. To the best of my belief, he didn’t +get it by falling in the river, but somehow on land. Well, _how_? +That’s what I want to know.” + +“But, Michael, you can’t be sure. You may _think_ the bottom’s all +mud, but there may be a dozen snags half buried that you can’t see. +And you’re not a diver. You can’t possibly have examined the river +bottom for several hundreds of yards. For, of course, you don’t know +exactly where he fell in.” + +“All the same,” Michael said obstinately, “he couldn’t have broken +his neck without hitting his head pretty hard on something. And if he +hit it there’d have been a cut or a bruise. And I couldn’t see one.” + +“Even if you couldn’t, it doesn’t prove there wasn’t one. Unless +you’re certain? _Are_ you?” + +“We-ell. Of course it all depends what you mean by certain. If that +Jack-in-office had let me make a proper examination I’d have been +absolutely certain. As it is, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t; but I +didn’t grasp what a puzzle it made until it was too late to get +another look at him. Damn the man!” said Michael, with a fresh access +of feeling. + +“Well, well, never mind. It’s hard luck, I agree. But probably if you +go to the inquest, you’ll find it’s all clear. I expect there will +turn out to have been a contusion somewhere--probably hidden under +the hair. Water plays strange tricks with dead bodies. Anyway, I +suggest, now you’ve got it off your chest, that you put the whole +thing out of your mind for a bit. If there’s really anything wrong, +we shan’t get any forrarder without some more information. And this +evening’s really too lovely to waste. Hullo! who drives a racing +Talbot hereabouts?” + +Looking out, Michael caught a glimpse of the lean scarlet car which +had crossed the bridge earlier in the day, and a flash of its owner’s +million-dollar profile. + +“Wallace Burden,” he said. “He’ll be running over more pigs if he +isn’t careful. Oh!” Part of the cryptic conversation in the bar had +suddenly taken on a meaning to him. + +“Who was that with him?” Wilson asked, without noticing the +exclamation. + +“I didn’t see. You must have eyes like a hawk. Male or female?” + +“Female. And a very good choice, I should say, as far as looks are +concerned.” + +“I don’t know. Mrs. Meston, maybe--or the Scarlet Woman, which seems +to be her pet name in these parts.” Michael retailed a little more +gossip. + +“I didn’t know you were such a scandal-monger, Michael,” Wilson said, +with amusement. “Can’t the poor lady, if it is she, come to look at +her husband’s remains without you goggling at her? Hullo! hullo! This +looks more like business.” + +“What? I don’t see anything.” + +Wilson pointed at a florid gentleman, of military appearance and +military step, who was striding towards them down the High Street. + +“County Police, or I’m a Dutchman. And he appears to be coming here.” + +“I hope he’s got more sense than his medical officer,” Michael +grumbled, as the military gentleman disappeared. A moment later a +maid-servant knocked at the door, with a card in an envelope, and a +message that the owner desired a few minutes’ conversation with Dr. +Prendergast. Michael held the card out to Wilson. It bore the name of +Colonel Lockwood. + +“Chief of the County Police,” Wilson said. “They’re on your trail, +Michael. Will you see him here?” + + + + + CHAPTER V + + +“What about you?” Michael asked. + +“To the best of my belief Colonel Lockwood doesn’t know me,” Wilson +replied, “though I’ve seen him once or twice. I think I’ll stay +and risk it. I’d rather like to see you arrested for suspicious +behaviour. But be careful you don’t give me away.” + +Accordingly, a minute later the same maid ushered in the military +figure they had seen in the street. At closer quarters it looked even +more military, with a brick-red face, a bristling yellow moustache, +and a beaked nose; all belied, however, by a pair of very mild, very +worried blue eyes which surmounted it. + +“Dr. Prendergast?” he inquired in his best parade growl, and looked +uneasily at Wilson. + +“This is my friend, Mr. Wilson,” Michael explained. “He’s just come +down to join us. Have you any objection to his remaining?” + +The Colonel looked as if he were searching Army Orders for the +correct procedure, and failing to find it. Finally, with a grunt, he +decided to let it pass. + +“Provided he knows how to hold his tongue,” he said. “The business +I’ve come on is private, doctor.” + +“Quite,” said Wilson. “I assure you I can keep my mouth shut.” + +“That’s all right, then. Well, Dr. Prendergast, I won’t waste your +time. I understand that you were present this morning when a body was +taken out of the river?” + +“Yes--Mr. Meston’s body,” Michael said. The Colonel frowned as if he +very much disliked the fact. + +“And you examined it before the police-surgeon arrived?” + +“I did,” said Michael; “but not thoroughly. And your man didn’t +appear to desire my assistance afterwards.” + +“Oh, you mustn’t mind that,” said the Colonel. “Kershaw likes to do +his work himself. It’s only his way.” + +“It’s a very unpleasant way,” said Michael. + +“Well, we can’t help that. Now, what I wanted to ask you was--Did you +form any idea as to the cause of death?” + +“The man had a broken neck, and I should say he died of it. The +condition is frequently fatal.” + +“You don’t think he died of drowning?” + +“No. As far as I could see, I’m certain he didn’t.” + +“Yes. So far you’re in complete agreement with Dr. Kershaw. You agree +that he must have hit something with his head as he fell into the +river, which broke his neck?” + +“That, it seems to me, would have produced the mark of a blow or cut +of some kind on his head. And I couldn’t see any.” + +“Pardon me, doctor, but you’re wrong there. There’s a very distinct +mark--under his hair. I’ve just seen it. He must have hit his head a +tremendous crack.” + +Michael caught Wilson’s eye, and thought it looked derisive. He +became suddenly angry and positive. “That’s impossible,” he said. + +“Impossible! My dear doctor, what do you mean? I tell you I’ve seen +it. You admit you only made a perfunctory examination. You must have +overlooked it.” + +“I may have overlooked a slight mark,” Michael said, “because, as I +told you, I was given no opportunity of making a proper examination. +But I couldn’t possibly have overlooked a serious one, of course!” + +“Well, but as Colonel Lockwood has seen it, it’s presumably there,” +Wilson interrupted; and at the sound of his voice the other two, who +had begun to glare at each other, sank down into their chairs. “What +exactly is the point, Colonel?” + +“Slight or serious, it’s there,” the Colonel repeated. “However, the +point is--how long should you say the body had been in the water?” + +“Several days--three or four at least. It couldn’t have been more +than five, for the man was walking about here five days ago.” + +“Precisely. Dr. Kershaw says the same. So we may take it that he +probably fell or jumped into the river. Is there anything, in your +view, to show whether it was accident or suicide?” + +“That’s hardly a medical question, you know. There is obviously +nothing to show.” + +“You mean the medical evidence is consistent with either?” + +“Accepting the mark, and the presence of some object in the river +hard enough to break his neck--yes.” + +The Colonel gave a sigh of relief. “That’s all right, then,” he said. +“I’ve had to ask these questions, doctor, because there are a lot +of local gossips here, and they will have it that you cast doubt +on Doctor Kershaw’s conclusions. I suppose I may take it that you +didn’t.” + +“I would rather,” Michael answered, a trifle stiffly, “retrain from +committing myself to any conclusions at all. I prefer to stick to +facts.” + +“So do we all, I hope. As to the facts, then, you agree?” + +“I would rather not venture a definite opinion.” + +The Colonel sighed. “At any rate you agree with Doctor Kershaw that +the man died of a broken neck?” + +“I agree that that appears to have been the cause of death----” + +“Then it seems to me that’s all right. There’s no disagreement on the +vital question.” + +“--_but_,” persisted Michael, who was not going to be baulked of his +grievance, “I’d really rather not say anything, without having a +further look at the body.” + +“Oh, surely--I hardly think that’s necessary.” The Colonel’s +determination to let sleeping dogs lie was so obvious that +Michael’s protest died away. He was well aware that he had no right +to intervene in the matter; but he was so cross that he might +easily have persisted had Wilson given him the least shadow of +encouragement. But Wilson sat perfectly silent, with a faint smile +on his face; and, after trying several more hints, all of which the +Colonel politely ignored, Michael allowed the interview to come to an +end, and scowled his visitor out of the room. This done, he turned +furiously on Wilson. + +“You might have helped me out instead of sitting there grinning like +a Cheshire cat! Is this whole damned place in a conspiracy? First the +doctor, and now this Chief Constable fellow!” + +Wilson’s smile broadened. “Don’t you know innocence when you see it, +Michael? There never was any one with less guile than Lockwood. It’s +quite natural he shouldn’t want you butting in and questioning his +expert medical evidence.” + +“If that’s so, why wouldn’t he let me have another look at the body?” + +“Because, for all practical purposes, it isn’t his body; it’s +Kershaw’s. And you’ve upset Kershaw, and he’s told the Colonel you’re +a meddlesome outsider--which you are, you know, from his point of +view.” + +“_Why_,” Michael said, “are you so keen on my letting the thing +alone? It’s not like you. If there’s something wrong--and I’m certain +there is--isn’t it everybody’s concern?” + +“_If_ there is,” said Wilson. “But the hardened professional is +perhaps less anxious to find crimes than the amateur. Not everything +is criminal that is a little odd, you know. And, if there has been +any foul play--which I gather is what you are suggesting--shouldn’t +we be better advised at the present moment to hold our tongues +instead of making a shout of it?” + +Michael coloured and bit his lip at the rebuke, and to cover his +discomfiture went to look out of the window. What he saw there, +however, appeared to please him very little, for he turned back into +the room with an exclamation of disgust. + +“What’s the matter?” Wilson asked. “Kershaw?” + +“No. That little bounder,” Michael said, “hanging around still. Look!” + +“What a lot of enemies you seem to have made,” Wilson commented +mildly; but he went to the window obediently, and gazed out +on Michael’s acquaintance in the bowler hat, who was having a +semi-confidential conversation with the postman. + +“Not an attractive creature, certainly,” he said. “But what has he +done to you?” + +“Only hung about all day, and tried to pump me--greasy little tyke!” +said Michael. “Not to mention everybody else. What is he, Harry? A +tout, or a reporter? Not a reporter, I hope.” + +“I don’t think so,” Wilson said. “He looks to me, I regret to say, +rather more like an outside broker in my line. He has the air of +private inquiry agent--and not a very nice specimen of the breed. I +wonder what cause there is for private inquiries into the late Mr. +Meston? He’s buttonholed somebody else now--rather a nice-looking +young fellow.” + +Michael looked over his shoulder. “Why, it’s _Warden_!” he exclaimed. +“I didn’t know he was back. I’ll bring him in, shall I?” And in a +moment he was gone. + +“Oh, impetuosity!” Wilson murmured to himself. “I’m afraid you may +get another setback.” + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + +It was, in fact, only a few minutes before Michael was back again, +looking distinctly glum. Out of pity, Wilson forbore to ask the +reason; had he done so, he would have found that Michael had once +again been dismissed with something less than cordiality. Mark +Warden, though his face, which looked unusually careworn, had +brightened up at Michael’s coming, had made it quite plain, after +the first greeting, that his conversation with the supposed inquiry +agent (now introduced as Strake) did not require a third; and Michael +was in no mood to hang about while his friend conducted private +conversations with “dirty little Paul Prys.” Accordingly, he returned +to the inn, feeling that the world was in a conspiracy to humiliate +and annoy him, and was so sulky during the evening that even Wilson, +equable as his own temper was, was beginning to wish that the late +Mr. Meston had stayed at the bottom of the river, when about nine +o’clock there was a sound of hurried feet on the stairs, a bang on +the door, and Mark Warden, pale and worried, rushed into the room. + +“Oh, good! you’re there,” he exclaimed. “I say, Michael, I’m +frightfully sorry about that chap, but, you see--oh!----” he broke +off on seeing Wilson. “I’m sorry.” + +“My friend, Wilson,” said Michael, introducing them. “Mark Warden.” + +Wilson offered to leave, as the young man had clearly some trouble +on his mind; but Michael was anxious for him to stay, and after +a little beating about the bush, it was decided that he should. +Drinks were ordered, and they settled themselves comfortably, Wilson +meanwhile observing the young man with some care. + +There was nothing apparent to distinguish Mark Warden from any other +pleasant, moderately idle young fellow of twenty-six or seven. He was +good-looking, in a way, but with the comeliness of youth and health +rather than any special distinction; he was above middle height, with +movements and a carriage which suggested that his body was probably +more specifically handsome than his face; and though that face at +present looked worried and worn, it was no more so than the faces of +many young creatures Wilson had known, when first they discovered +that life does not strictly correspond to the l.b.w. rule. + +“I’m _frightfully_ sorry,” he said very earnestly, “to have been +talking to that awful bounder. Really, I couldn’t help it, though. +You see, he was put on by Hanborough to look into this business. Of +course, I thought Hanborough’d know what’d be best, and I didn’t ask +any questions--and then he stopped me in the street, of all places, +and began talking about it----” + +“About _what_?” Michael interrupted. “About Meston’s death?” + +“Yes, though God knows what business it was of his. He began feeding +me up with a frightful lot of scandal. Come to think of it, _your_ +name got in somehow, Michael--about mysteries about Mr. Meston’s +death, and quarrels with his wife--disgusting sort of rubbish! Of +course, I pretty soon told him _that_ wasn’t what Mr. Hanborough’d +asked him to look into----” + +“But what _had_ he been asked to look into?” Michael tried again. + +“Why, the accounts. That’s just what I’ve come to ask you about--to +know what the blazes you think I ought to do. It’s frightfully +awkward for me, you see, anyway, and now Meston turning up drowned +fairly puts the lid on it.” + +“Puts the lid on _what_?” Michael said impatiently. “What in thunder +are you talking about?” + +“Perhaps if Mr. Warden started from the beginning,” Wilson suggested. +“He forgets you and I are strangers to the place.” + +“You may be strangers,” Warden said bitterly, “but if you haven’t had +all the gossip four times over at least, you’ve very lucky strangers. +I never knew such a hornets’ nest as this. But I’m sorry I’m making +a muddle--I don’t know what to think or what to do. I’ll start again +properly.” He helped himself to a stiff drink, and pushed the hair +back from his forehead. + +“_You_ know,”--to Michael, who nodded--“Dad put me in to learn the +business five years ago; and Christmas two years, when he had his +stroke, he got me made junior partner. Dad was senior partner of +Warden, Hanborough and Meston”--he added to Wilson--“of Colchester. +He built up the firm practically himself, and he did nearly +everything, and so, of course, with two other partners, there was +precious little for me to do; and, anyway, he was just as pleased I +should play cricket and be a kind of county ornament as do anything +else. I mean, I could be a sort of decoy duck for clients, don’t you +see, even if I didn’t do any work. Well, after I properly came into +the firm, this went on for some time; Hanborough and Meston between +them knew the whole show inside out, and I didn’t see why I should +bother. Then, you remember, I had that smash at the end of last +season, when you picked me up; and our old sawbones thinks I must +have managed to strain my guts, somehow, at the same time. Anyhow, +I had a horrid pain inside me for a bit; and what with that and my +knee, I didn’t feel much like playing games. So I took to going +regularly to business, though I don’t fancy anybody particularly +wanted me there, teaching somebody else their job--however, I thought +I really ought to. + +“But this is the devil of it--I hadn’t been going there regularly for +very long before I began to see that something was wrong with the +money side. It wasn’t any credit to me that I did; the greenest mug +could have seen it with half an eye if he’d happened to come across +it the way I did. I don’t mean to bother you with details--the long +and short of it was that the funds weren’t where they should be; +they were in oil-shares and that sort of stuff, and some, I believe, +weren’t there at all. + +“Well, I began to sweat with fright, because if some of our big +people had called us to pay up, we should have been in the soup--and +it would have been as much my fault as any one’s. I would have asked +Dad; but he can’t talk even, much less look after business. So I +went to Hanborough at last, and consulted him. That was this spring. +Hanborough wouldn’t listen for some time. He practically told me +I was an idiot, who didn’t know the difference between one kind of +share and another, but at last I convinced him that it wasn’t only a +question of shares, but of money actually missing. With that I got +him down to the office and made him go into it thoroughly. + +“Then he got into an awful stew, and declared we must go very +carefully. You see, we neither of us knew who’d been monkeying with +the business; and, as Hanborough said, if a whisper got out, somebody +would be sure to try and withdraw their money, and then it would be +all U.P. We talked a long time about what was to be done, and at last +I persuaded Hanborough to put on a private detective to investigate +and see what was going on. Meanwhile, he said, he and I would keep a +personal look-out into everything that was going on in the office, +and stop any more hanky-panky. And he particularly urged me to say +nothing about our feelings to Meston----” + +“Why not to Meston?” Wilson asked. “Wasn’t he concerned?” + +“Well, I suppose you can guess why not, _now_, as I can,” young +Warden said ruefully. “But it never occurred to me at the time. +Hanborough only said that in cases like this it was as well for +as few people as possible to know what was in the wind, and that +as Meston had to be in the office a lot--he was the partner who +generally saw people--it was just as well that he should be quite +innocent. Also, he said, Meston had only been a clerk in the firm, +and wouldn’t feel a thing like this as he or I should. I know it +sounds as if I ought to have seen what he was driving at; but at +the time I was so muddled that I couldn’t think of anything but that +_we_ must find out what was happening and nobody else must know. +Hanborough got hold of this fellow Strake--though, as I say, I hadn’t +a ghost of a notion what he was like--and sent me reports every now +and then to say how things were going on. Then this afternoon they +rang up from Hellier to let me know Meston had been found drowned. +I couldn’t get hold of Hanborough, so I came down myself at once to +see what had happened. And _this_ is what I find--and that little +beast of a Strake nosing round into it. He had the impudence to wave +an expense account in my face, too! How Hanborough could ever have +brought himself to employ such a fellow, I can’t think.” + +“Spying isn’t a nice trade, you know,” Wilson pointed out to him. +“You can’t always expect to employ a spy whom you’d like to ask to +dinner. But what’s the position now? I gather from what you say that +you think Meston may have been the villain of the piece?” + +“Well, they say here he committed suicide,” Warden said. “Why, they +say you said so, Michael.” + +“I never said anything of the kind!” Michael contradicted him +indignantly. “I never even got a chance----” Nor did he then, for +Warden interrupted. + +“Well, if you didn’t, _somebody_ said he did. But what the hell ought +I to do? It’ll have to come out now; and Hanborough’s away.” + +“Gently!” said Wilson. “Aren’t you going a bit fast? You don’t seem +to me to have much proof that Meston embezzled your funds.” + +“Well, I don’t know what Strake’s got,” Warden said. “But, if he +killed himself, it looks----” + +“Yes, I know; but we can hardly assume that, at any rate, until the +inquest’s been held. What do you suppose he did with the funds, if he +did take them?” + +“_I_ don’t know. Salted ’em down, perhaps. Or lost ’em.” + +“Had he expensive tastes, I mean? Did he bet, or speculate? Might he +have lost the money?” + +“I don’t know. Outside of the office, I hardly knew him.” + +“He certainly didn’t _sound_ like a successful embezzler, when he was +here,” Michael put in. “If he did embezzle funds, I should say he’d +certainly lost them all. I never saw such a gloomy fellow.” + +“Oh, that’ll be his wife, poor devil,” Warden said. “She made him +feel like that.” + +“Is she the lady who’s supposed to be rejoicing at his death?” +Michael asked. + +“Well, they didn’t get on at all, if that’s what you mean. In +fact, she’d just run away from him, and he’d taken leave from the +office--really, I suppose, to go and get her back, though he didn’t +say so.” + +“Why did he come here, then?” + +“Because she was at the Lorings’, of course,” said Warden, who seemed +to imagine that all his hearers were as familiar with the current +gossip as he was himself. “They’re her cousins, you know; and she +always goes there when she can.” + +“Did he get her back?” + +“Not on your life,” Warden said, with decision. “But what’s it got to +do----Oh, I see! You mean he might have killed himself for that!” + +“Well, it’s a possibility.” + +“Without having pinched any of our cash? I see. Well, I’m sure I hope +he did,” Warden said, with a deep disregard of any one’s feelings but +his own. “But tell me, d’you think there’s anything I can do?” + +“Not much, I should say,” said Wilson, “at least, until the inquest, +when it may be known how he died, and when his papers will have been +examined.” + +“But that’s just what I don’t want!” Warden cried. “Don’t you see, +Mr. Wilson, if police officials get hold of his papers, and a whole +lot of things come out, then the firm will bust. I’m absolutely +certain we couldn’t meet our commitments, if even two or three people +wanted their money. And--you see, it isn’t only looking like a fool, +it’s my family. All our money, practically, except my mother’s, +was--is--in the business; and I’ve two sisters. It would mean selling +the house and turning Dad out, and--it would be my fault, you see.” + +“Well, it may not have been Meston,” said Michael, pitying his +distress but not seeing any way of dealing with it. + +“But I _must_ know! Whether it is or it isn’t, I must get at what +happened! Really, I can’t stand going on like this--and everybody +at home thinking it’s all very nice, only why can’t dear Mark be +a little pleasanter? You know,” said the athlete ingenuously, “I +used to think it was all bunkum about worry making you lose your +appetite. But half a dozen times lately I’ve really felt so rotten +with bothering about this, I haven’t wanted to touch anything. Only, +of course, I had to, or they’d have wondered what on earth was +happening. Oh yes, of course you’ll laugh at me,”--and Michael had +striven so hard to restrain his smiles--“but it’s not a joke, even +if I _am_ a fool. Look here, Michael, that’s what I really came to +ask. You know that friend of yours who’s at Scotland Yard--what’s +his name? Well, couldn’t you get him to come and find out what’s +happened? I mean, I can’t stand not knowing, and I can’t stand that +fellow of Hanborough’s. Of course”--to Wilson--“I know what you mean, +that a spy isn’t a gentleman; but a policeman at Scotland Yard’s +not likely to be so bad as a little tuppenny-ha’penny chap from +Walthamstow, is he? You know what I mean.” + +They did, indeed: so well that they could scarcely keep their faces +while Michael carefully explained that Scotland Yard is not for +casual use by any and every private citizen in any case of suspicion. +Warden’s face fell, but brightened again when Michael offered to put +his troubles privately before the great man and see what he thought. +“And I’ll sack that little perisher,” he said. “He’ll make me sick if +he hangs about much longer.” + +“I don’t know that I should be in a hurry,” Wilson advised. “It may +be better for him to be bringing his gossip to you than scattering it +broadcast. Besides, isn’t Mr. Hanborough concerned?” + +“Yes, damn it. I’d forgotten him. I wish to hell he’d come back. +Well, thanks awfully, both of you. You’ve made me feel a lot better. +Now I must be going, or they’ll wonder what’s up. I expect I’ll be +round again some time, if I’m not bothering. And you will ask Wilson, +won’t you? So long.” And he took himself off, leaving Michael in fits +of laughter on the couch. + +“Unfeeling fellow,” Wilson said. + +“Well, he is rather an outsize in geese,” Michael protested. + +“You’ve no real appreciation of youth and innocence, Michael. If +you’d been as much in contact with their opposites as I have, you’d +regard your friend as a spring of water in a thirsty land. Oh, laugh +if you like. I’m delighted to find you brightening up a little. Only +don’t break the ornaments.” He stooped to pick up a photograph which +Michael had knocked to the floor. + +“Friend of yours?” the latter asked, glancing at it. + +“Not that I know of. From that scrawl in the corner, one would judge +it to be Mrs. Meston. It’s a striking face, isn’t it? Would you +commit suicide if that face had left you, Michael?” + +“I shouldn’t have married it in the first place,” Michael said. He +was a bachelor. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + +All the same, Michael was not happy. As soon as the immediate +amusement of Warden’s naïveté had worn off, his mind returned to +its troubles, to his annoyance with the corpse, the neighbours, Mr. +Strake, and Dr. Kershaw. Warden’s story might well throw light on +Meston’s end; for Michael could not deny that he had looked very much +as though he might be contemplating suicide--but, if he had, that +did not explain why he should deliver a blow on his own head and +conceal it so carefully that Michael could not see it. “Damn! Why +can’t I see him again?” grumbled Michael, turning his pillow. And if +he had embezzled trust moneys, what had he done with them? He did not +look like a man in funds, or a man with luxurious tastes. Spent them +on his wife, most likely, thought Michael spitefully, while _she_ +was driving about in a scarlet car with cinema heroes. And, as he +gradually slid off into an uneasy sleep, he saw Mrs. Meston leaning +over the running-board of the Talbot to strike at the submerged face +of her husband with what appeared to be Mr. Strake’s billycock. + +He woke as early and unrefreshed as one commonly does after such +slumber, and thought he would drive away his headache by taking a +walk before breakfast. It was as glorious a morning as the previous +one, and he made an endeavour to get Wilson to accompany him. But +a visit to his friend’s bedroom only produced a sleepy request to +go away and be damned; and he set out alone. He took no particular +direction, but soon found that his legs had led him down the street +of old houses where Mr. Brandreth lived. And there in the garden, +as on the previous morning, was Mr. Brandreth himself, syringing a +rosebush with soap and water. + +“The very man I wanted to see,” Mr. Brandreth hailed him. “I’m an +early bird myself, but I didn’t expect to see you about so soon. +Where’s your friend?” + +“My friend?” Michael gasped. + +“Bless my soul,” Mr. Brandreth chuckled, “you didn’t think anything +so important as a new guest’s arrival would pass without notice +in Steeple Tollesbury, did you? Besides, as it happens, I saw him +myself, when you were taking the air together yesterday evening. +Between ourselves, doctor, is he here merely for a holiday?” + +“What do you mean?” said Michael. + +“Oh, only idle curiosity. You know, I’m pretty certain I’ve seen your +friend before.” Mr. Brandreth lowered the syringe, and directed a +wink straight at Michael. “And I’d almost be prepared to bet that I +know where. At the Central Criminal Court, eh? Yes, I see I’m right.” + +“Well, if you are, what of it?” said Michael sourly, annoyed at +having so transparent a countenance. “My friend is here on a holiday, +incognito. He won’t be particularly grateful to any one who spreads +rumours abroad about his identity.” + +“Oh, quite so, of course,” Mr. Brandreth agreed. “Don’t think I’ve +been talking, doctor. I haven’t said an indiscreet word, and won’t, +if you tell me not to. But, as I say, I happened to recognise him; +and, having my fair share of natural curiosity, it occurred to me to +wonder if he was here on--this business.” + +“What, _Meston_?” Michael gave a jump in spite of himself. “Why--why +should he be?” + +“Oh, well, I don’t know, of course,” Brandreth said. “People have +been saying all sorts of things--I rather gathered that some of them +came from you, by the way--and when I saw your Mr. Wilson walking +down the High Street so opportunely, I naturally wondered if he were +concerned in it. Between you and me and the gate-post, I rather hoped +he was.” + +“Well, he isn’t,” said Michael shortly. “He’s on holiday.” Then, his +natural curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, “Why did you +hope he was?” + +“Well--I think things aren’t always what they seem, you know. Don’t +you? It looks to me a bit fishy altogether,” said Brandreth. + +“You mean--you don’t think his death was all right?” Michael asked +excitedly. + +“To tell you the truth, I don’t. I look at it this way. Here’s a man +fallen in the river--yes, I know he broke his neck on the way, but +that only makes it odder. Now, I put it to you--Is there anywhere a +man would be likely to fall into the Toll, unless he was blind drunk? +And that Meston never was. I’ve never seen him take a drop more than +was good for him--and often not half as much as would have been good +for him, if you take my meaning. And I’m not to believe he fell into +that river, not if he were to tell me so himself. The tap-room, I +gather, says suicide. Well, that’s all very well; but a man doesn’t +develop suicidal tendencies in ten minutes, and I’ve known Meston a +good long time, and any one less likely to commit suicide I’ve seldom +seen. Too struck with his own virtues, by a long way. Well, how did +he get into that river?” + +“Are you trying to tell me he was murdered?” Michael said. “Who would +have murdered him?” + +“Softly! I didn’t say murdered. Nothing of the sort. I only said he +didn’t get there unassisted. And I’m naming no names, for obvious +reasons. What I wondered was, whether your Superintendent Wilson was +thinking of looking into the thing.” + +“He’s got nothing to do with it.” + +“Of course, I take your word,” Brandreth said doubtfully. “But, all +the same, why shouldn’t he--quietly, you know? I’m sure you agree +with me that the thing ought to be cleared up.” + +“I don’t see quite how you come into it,” Michael said. + +“Oh, well, I do, in a way. You see, I’m Mrs. Meston’s lawyer--it’s +one of the few bits of business I still keep on with. And you can +quite understand that she’ll be anxious to find out how her husband +died; and if it is anything but accident, you can also understand, +unless you’re too proud to listen to gossip, that it may be a bit +awkward for her.” + +“If there’s any truth in the gossip,” said Michael spitefully, “I +should have thought she’d better lie low.” + +“Well, I’m her lawyer, you see. I’m taking the line that there +isn’t. But I’m also taking the line that it ought to be cleared +up. And, as a matter of fact, though I’m speaking at the moment in +a non-professional capacity, I don’t mind telling you that Mrs. +Meston agrees with me. She came to see me yesterday evening, and was +particularly urgent that it should be cleared up. So, you see, I +thought your Mr. Wilson----” + +“He’s not in it,” said Michael. “Anyway, he couldn’t come in unless +he was asked by the local people. And your Chief Constable didn’t +seem likely to ask him.” + +“Oh, Lockwood! Of course, Lockwood doesn’t want a fuss of any +kind. You see, if there’s any trouble, all the people likely to be +involved--the Loring lot, Nicholas Hanborough”--Michael hoped he had +suppressed his start this time--“and so on, are personal friends of +his. And Lockwood’s a very decent chap, the last man in the world who +ought to be a policeman, if you’ll excuse me saying so. You aren’t in +that line yourself, by the way, are you? No, I thought not. So much +the better for Kershaw”--Michael gasped again. “Well, naturally, what +Lockwood wants is to get the fellow buried quickly and quietly, and +no questions asked. But, personally, I don’t feel satisfied. That’s +why I wanted to see you, in case your friend had any views. I thought +of calling on him after breakfast. It’s all the better, in a way, if +he really isn’t officially committed.” + +“You couldn’t retain him, you know. He’s not a private inquiry +agent,” said Michael, a recollection of Mr. Strake adding venom to +his disclaimer. Was Brandreth, he wondered, thinking of running +Wilson and Strake in harness? “And, anyway, he’s come down for a +holiday. He needs one badly.” + +“And doesn’t appreciate the busman’s kind, eh? All the same, I’d be +obliged if you’d mention what I’ve told you to him. It can’t do any +harm, and he might feel interested, you know.” + +“I don’t think so,” said Michael. “But I’ll tell him, if you like.” + +“Thanks, I should. And, look here, I’m on the ’phone. If you _do_ +find he’s interested, I shall be at home all morning, and a call will +bring me at any time. Good luck, doctor. By the way, if there’s a +fuss, your friend’s fiancée may be involved too, you know.” + +“But he’s married!” + +“I beg your pardon. I meant young Warden. You knew he was engaged to +Edna Loring, the Squire’s sister, didn’t you? Oh, I thought you’d +have heard. He’s going through a thin time now, isn’t he, poor lad? +Well, I hope to hear from you.” + +Michael passed the old lawyer’s request to Wilson, with an +all-but-expressed prayer that the latter should decline to consider +it. He had an uneasy feeling that Brandreth knew too much by half; +and in spite of his last night’s strictures on Warden, he was fond +enough of the young man not to wish him to be ruined by casual talk +about his affairs. And, anyway, why should Brandreth suppose that +Wilson had come down officially to investigate a case when there +wasn’t a case to be investigated? For Scotland Yard could hardly +have been called in on the question of embezzlement--unless, indeed, +Warden were lying with a skill utterly foreign to his character; and, +as to the death, Wilson must have started before even the body was +found. Mr. Brandreth, Michael thought, was altogether too much of a +gossip; and he was surprised and disappointed when Wilson, having +heard a report of the conversation, said, “I think we’ll have him +round. You’d better ’phone up.” + +“But--surely you can’t take it up without Colonel Lockwood’s consent?” + +“Of course I can’t,” said Wilson, a trifle impatiently. “But that +doesn’t prevent me having a look round into interesting features--in +fact, it rather eases it by setting me free. And Mr. Brandreth, +if you’ve reported him correctly, sounds a distinctly interesting +feature. I think I’d like to hear what he has to say.” + +Michael accordingly telephoned Dunster House, where Brandreth lived; +and a cheerful voice, in which he thought he detected a faint ring of +triumph, assured him that its owner would be with them immediately +after breakfast. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + +Wilson looked up with interest as the lawyer was ushered in. He saw a +tubby, fresh-faced little man, with a short grey moustache, and grey +hair which bristled up on his head, a beaming smile, a brisk manner, +a pugnacious chin, and a pair of very alert, deep-set grey eyes. +His appearance agreed very well with his character as derived from +a gossip with Sam Wason, who had said that Mr. Brandreth was a deep +one, a holy terror when he liked, and as sharp as a needle. + +“Is he only a gossiping little busybody, or has he a game of his +own?” Wilson wondered. “Probably to let him talk is the best way of +finding out.” Accordingly, he opened straight to the point. + +“I understand from Dr. Prendergast that you wanted to see me, Mr. +Brandreth,” he said. “I hope you quite realise that I have no _locus +standi_ in this matter. I am simply here on a holiday, and the local +people have not consulted me in any way. As far as I can judge, they +do not think there is anything to consult about. Exactly what use I +can be to you under the circumstances I don’t quite see; but I am at +your service, if that is understood.” + +“Oh, quite,” said Mr. Brandreth, with polite scepticism. “I am only +seeking advice, unprofessionally, as I told Dr. Prendergast.” + +“And the advice is----?” + +“I want to know what you think happened to William Meston.” + +“Dr. Prendergast mentioned Mrs. Meston. Are you acting for her?” + +“Not definitely. I had a talk with her yesterday, and she is anxious +to have the matter cleared up. But I’ve no definite instructions.” + +“Why does she want it cleared up?” + +“Well, it’s natural, isn’t it?” Brandreth said innocently. “Besides, +I thought I explained to the doctor that, if his death was anything +but an accident, there’s likely to be a good deal of unpleasant talk, +and I’d rather that was dealt with quickly, for her sake.” + +“So I gathered,” Wilson said somewhat dryly. “I haven’t been here +twenty-four hours yet; but I’ve heard talk enough to fill an American +Sunday paper. Perhaps, Mr. Brandreth, you would be good enough to +sift it for me. What exactly is the truth about Mrs. Meston and her +husband?” + +“Well,” Mr. Brandreth settled himself in comfortable anticipation, +and took out an old cherrywood pipe, “the first thing is, that they +didn’t get on at all. That’s common knowledge--in fact, at the time +when he died she’d actually run away from him, and was staying at the +Grange.” + +“Why at the Grange?” + +“Oh, it was the natural place for her to go to. She’s a sort of +cousin of the Lorings--Sylvia Liddell was her maiden name--and +she’s been in and out of there ever since she could walk. Godfrey +Loring--the Squire--regards himself almost as her guardian, I +believe.” + +“And so she’d left her husband. With any particular purpose?” + +“Divorce, you mean? No; Meston wouldn’t divorce her. And she couldn’t +divorce him.” + +“But he could.” + +“Oh, yes. I tell you, she wanted him to.” + +“Any particular co-respondent?” + +“None that I know of. But a suit would not have been defended.” + +“Nevertheless, a co-respondent would be necessary.” + +“Oh, I expect one could have been found.” + +“Who?” + +“Well, that’s a delicate question, Mr. Wilson. I should hardly like +to say, seeing that the happy man has not had a chance of signifying +his consent. And in any case, I couldn’t. The question, you see, had +not arisen. But I have no doubt one would have been provided.” + +“Not the cinema star, by any chance?” + +“Oh--Burden.” There was respect in Brandreth’s glance. “I hardly +think so. He has a wife already--if not two--and he’s an expensive +sort of fellow. I should doubt he could afford another. Though, of +course, he’s high in favour at present.” + +“There were others, then?” + +“Oh yes. Mackenzie, the explorer, was very smitten. And that fellow +Shane--you’ll have heard of him, he’s in your line. And half a dozen +more. Do you want a list?” + +“I wonder,” Wilson mused, “why, with all that embarrassment of +riches, Mrs. Meston hit upon her late husband. It doesn’t sound a +natural choice for her.” + +“That, of course,” said Brandreth, “was the most foolish thing +that anybody ever did. And I’m afraid the reason’s as plain as a +pikestaff. It was temper. I can tell you the whole story, if you +don’t mind listening a few minutes. + +“Sylvia Meston, as I said, was Sylvia Liddell before her marriage. +Her parents both died when she was little; and, though nominally she +lived with an old aunt, she in fact spent most of her time at the +Grange. She was--and still is--an exceptionally pretty little devil, +very frank and oncoming; and men were crazy about her from the time +she was fifteen. Eighteen months ago, however, she suddenly married +Meston, who had been hanging about her in common with dozens of +others for the last year or so. + +“Of course, everybody hereabouts knew why she’d married. It was +partly poverty and mainly pique. Sooner or later, she would have had +to marry. She had expensive tastes and no money of her own; and, +though the Lorings are as rich as sin and would never have missed it, +she’s proud enough in some ways to dislike being a pensioner. That, +of course, doesn’t explain why she chose Meston; but it also happened +at the same time that she had a violent quarrel with John Loring, the +Squire’s younger brother, and sent him packing. At least, I never +heard the rights of it; but John Loring certainly departed for China +within the week, which was pretty drastic. I’ve an idea that that was +the last thing Sylvia intended, and that she really cared for him all +the time. I base this partly on the fact that she’s never discussed +it with me, though her frankness on all other matters is occasionally +disconcerting, and partly on the further fact that she took his +departure very hard indeed, and all but sent all her other admirers +off presently in John’s wake. + +“Then she suddenly married Meston. It appears to me that she had +decided, with one of the insane impulses which beset angry people, +to cut herself off as far from the Loring ménage and way of life as +possible; and that she chose Meston as the man least likely of all +possibles to remind her of John. Besides, the fellow was one of the +most curiously persistent creatures I’ve ever seen. Not only could he +not take ‘no’ for an answer; he could not really believe that any one +would meet him with a negative. If they appeared to be denying him, +he assumed that it was some temporary blindness, and simply waited. +I’ve seen that trait in philanthropists and reformers at times; and +perhaps under happier circumstances poor Meston might have become a +distinguished man. As it was, his patience brought him nothing but +Dead Sea fruit. + +“For, of course, it was a crazy thing to do, however you look at it. +They hadn’t a thing in common. He disapproved of the Loring habits as +much as your friend here would,” said Brandreth, with a side-glance +at Michael, who sat upright in surprise, “and he was quite determined +that once Sylvia was out she should stay out.” + +“Excuse me,” Wilson interrupted, “but if he detested the atmosphere +as much as you say, how did he ever come to meet the lady?” + +“Oh, the firm did some business for the Lorings--it dated back to old +Warden’s time. And Nick Hanborough, the present senior partner, is +a fairly frequent visitor there, and took him along one day. Then +he fell in love with Sylvia at first sight, and simply hung on till +she married him. However, as I say, it was madness. They hadn’t been +married a month before they began to quarrel; and the mischief of +it was that, in one of their early rows, Sylvia let out the reason +why she had married him. That absolutely put the lid on it, as far +as she was concerned. Sylvia herself--and any of the Loring lot, for +that matter--would have raged and stormed at a confession like that, +and then forgotten all about it. But Meston was made of different +stuff. Underneath his dull exterior he was one of the vainest men +I ever knew, and this confession of his wife’s just got him on the +raw. Once he had satisfied himself that she meant what she said, he +became insane with rage. He was not the sort to say anything, but he +just set himself out to make her pay for it. As I’ve already said, +he wouldn’t hear of divorce, or even judicial separation. He simply +tried to hold her by force. He kept her, for instance, as short of +money as he possibly could. She couldn’t even dress decently without +running into debt, and he made a violent scene whenever he was asked +to pay a bill. He refused to ask her friends to the house; and if any +of them came unasked, he treated them so rudely, men or women, that +they generally didn’t come again--and this in the presence of the +servants, quite often. If he’d dared, I think he would have locked +her up; but even he stopped short of the consequences of that. + +“Well, this went on for a considerable time. Sylvia complained to +me, of course; and I did what I could to make him see reason. I knew +him fairly well, one way and another, and he had his good points, +though they didn’t come out in his marriage. But you might as well +have talked to a stone wall. On this point he wasn’t a human creature +at all; he was just a walking injury, a man deeply wounded in his +self-esteem, and set on being properly revenged for it. Perhaps it’s +a fairly common condition; but I hope there aren’t many who are so +patiently vindictive about it as Meston was. + +“Eventually, as I’ve told you, Sylvia ran away. She had nowhere to +run but the Grange, otherwise I think she’d have gone before. But +she was very unwilling to return with her tail between her legs, and +she didn’t go until she had tried everything else. Godfrey Loring +took her in, of course, and was ill-advised enough to write to Meston +telling him that he’d done so, and why. Of course, that was like a +red rag. Meston immediately packed his bag, came down to the Old +Malting House here, and sat down to wait for his wife to return. +Meanwhile, he wrote the most insane letters to her, to the Squire, +and to any one else who he heard was on the premises, and ended by +going up to the Grange with a whip and demanding her return. On this +occasion, he was thrown out of the house by the footmen. Then, as you +know, or, at least, as the doctor knows, he disappeared from the Old +Malting House either late on Friday night or early Saturday morning, +without giving up his room or taking away his bags, though he left +them ready packed, Wason tells me, with a label, ‘To Be Called For.’ +And that’s the last of him--until he turned up in the river yesterday +morning. Wason thought he’d gone back to Colchester, and Colchester +thought he was here. Otherwise there might have been inquiries +before now. Well, Mr. Wilson, is that clear, or is there anything +else you want to know?” + +“What I chiefly want to know,” said Wilson thoughtfully, “is why you +have come to me with this story. If the man committed suicide, or if +there’s any possibility that he did, I can’t help you, nor could any +man, to keep these facts concealed. But I gather from Dr. Prendergast +that you don’t think he _did_ commit suicide. Why not?” + +“I knew him, you see,” said Brandreth. “He was, so emphatically, the +last man in the world to kill himself. He would have felt baulked, +for one thing, of his revenge on Sylvia; and he was quite certain, +when he came down here, that he was going to get her back again, if +not this time, then the next--or the next. He simply couldn’t believe +that the universe would let him down after all. Sylvia agrees with me +on that point, I may say.” + +“I see,” said Wilson thoughtfully. “How does Mr. Hanborough come in, +then?” + +“Hanborough?” Brandreth looked up sharply. “He doesn’t, that I know +of. Except that he was Meston’s partner.” + +“Connected with him financially,” Wilson said, with a slight stress +on the adverb. + +“Oh, I see what you mean. I don’t think there’s anything in that. Of +course, no doubt it would have worried him.” + +“H’m,” Wilson said. “Had Meston any money, and who gets it?” + +“A few thousands. Sylvia gets it, I believe--on condition she doesn’t +marry again. I don’t think he could have been put out of the way for +his possessions, if that’s what you mean.” + +“We don’t know that he was put out of the way, yet,” Wilson said, +with something of a sigh. “How old is Mrs. Meston, by the way?” + +“Twenty-six; but she looks twenty.” + +“Old enough to know her own mind,” Michael commented crossly. He +disliked what he called “promiscuous” women. + +“She _does_ know it,” the lawyer replied. “That’s the trouble. She’s +capable of wild impulses; but the Loring life is the life for her, +and she’s known it now for a year and a half.” + +“Or Mr. Burden?” + +“Or any one else you like. She must have them.” + +“You don’t give her a very reliable character,” Wilson said. + +“Well, their pace is a bit hot for me,” Brandreth replied. “I like +women, and I like wine--in moderation. But no Loring was ever known +to be moderate in either.” + +“But you didn’t attempt to dissuade your client from going there?” + +“Oh, I’m a tolerant person,” the lawyer said. “When in Rome, I do as +the Romans do. Besides, I know when the ice won’t bear me--unlike +poor Meston. I shouldn’t dream of walking into one of the Grange +parties, and asking Sylvia to come home.” + +“I’ve heard about those parties,” Michael said. “There was one the +night Meston vanished, wasn’t there?” + +“There was. But that wasn’t the one he attended. Anyway, Sylvia +wasn’t there, she tells me. She said she had a headache, which +I find it hard to believe. I’ve seldom met any one with Sylvia’s +physical energy. But this is a bit beside the mark, it seems to me. +What do you say, Mr. Wilson?” + +Before Wilson could answer, there was the sound of a slight +disturbance outside the door, which was then opened by a flustered +and giggling chambermaid. Just behind the chambermaid appeared a +slight figure in a short tennis frock and white cap. + +“Hullo, Ned!” said the apparition. “You haven’t wasted much time, +have you? And will Mr. Wilson do anything?” + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + +The three men stared at the intruder with varying expressions. +Brandreth’s face registered annoyance, changing after a second to +humorous resignation. Wilson’s retained its usual air of impassive +attention. Michael’s brow clouded with resentment and disapproval, +though he was unable to restrain a gaze of curiosity at the heroine +of the tale they had just heard. + +Prejudiced as he was, Michael had to admit that neither the lawyer +nor the photograph had overstated Sylvia Meston’s attractions. True, +she was not looking her conventional “best” at the moment; for she +had pretty clearly neither slept nor troubled to make up for the +lack of sleep by adventitious aids. But that, in a sense, did her +natural good looks more credit. Life at the Grange, however hot it +was reputed to be, had not apparently damaged either her health or +her complexion, since she was able to face worry and sleeplessness +without looking either puffy or sallow. Michael noted almost with +resentment that the lines of her jaw and the bones of her face, as +well as her skin, were nearly as perfect as they could be, and that +the short, brown curls, just visible under her hat, were as springy +and as full of colour as any he had seen. Nevertheless, he did not +abate his dislike; for Sylvia Meston obviously belonged to that type +of womanhood he was wont to describe as “predatory.” He could see +her, despite her weariness, settling on the best way of “getting at” +Wilson as soon as she entered the room. “Minx!” he said to himself, +as he was introduced, and saw the grey eyes sweep over him, and +then appeal, a little too obviously, for his sympathy for beauty in +distress. + +“You know my name?” Wilson asked her, a slight asperity in his voice. + +“So did the maid. Is it a secret? Ned told me you were here last +night. Does it matter?” Sylvia asked indifferently. She had curled +herself into a chair like a graceful kitten; but her fingers were +rather uneasily clutching at its arm. + +“I didn’t tell it you for public consumption,” Brandreth said, with +an expression like that of a cat caught stealing cream. “Nor did I +ask you to come here this morning.” + +“Oh, well, I thought I’d better see what you were doing. I don’t +trust you any farther than I can see you,” Sylvia said. “_Is_ Mr. +Wilson going to help us?” She turned her eyes suddenly on the owner +of the name. + +“I don’t quite see, at the moment, how I can help,” Wilson said. “Can +you tell me just why you are so sure that Mr. Meston didn’t kill +himself?” + +“He wouldn’t. Not while I was alive. Didn’t Ned explain that to you?” +Sylvia said. “I told him to. He said God would give me back to him.” + +“But he might have met with an accident.” + +“Accidents didn’t happen to William. He wasn’t that kind of man. +Besides, he could swim like a duck. He _couldn’t_ have got into that +river, unless some one had pushed him there.” + +“Who would have?” + +“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Sylvia. “If I did, I shouldn’t be +asking you to find out. _Will_ you find out?” Her tone was low, but +none the less insistent. + +“Would you mind telling me exactly why you are so anxious to know?” + +“Well, he was my husband, wasn’t he? Aren’t I supposed to be +interested?” + +“But----” Even Wilson ventured a faint doubt, and Michael was +betrayed into an unmistakable snort of contempt. There was an +instant’s pause, during which Sylvia Meston raised her head, and +stared him full in the face, with the indignant gaze of a trapped +animal. + +“Oh, I know what _you’re_ thinking!” she burst out at last; and +Michael reflected sourly that the pause had given its full value to +her change of tone. “You needn’t bother to be polite! You’re thinking +what all these swine here are saying--that I was glad William was +dead, and that it’s indecent of me to bother how he died. Well, +I’m not! I used to think I’d give anything in the world to get rid +of him, and I didn’t care how it happened. But I’m not. Lockwood +made me go and look at him”--she gave a shudder that was obviously +genuine--“and whatever he was like and whatever he did to me, I +couldn’t want him to look like that.” + +“What about what you did to him?” Michael intervened. + +“Oh, I was a little cat,” Sylvia said. “You needn’t think I don’t +know it. Ned told me so dozens of times, didn’t you, Ned? I said, +it’s no use, you can’t do what you can’t. And it’s no use talking +about paying your debts of honour when you haven’t any money. I +think William might have made it a bit easier, that’s all. I wouldn’t +have asked for anything, only to be let alone. It was just an idiotic +mistake, that’s all about it, and he might have seen. Everybody else +knew it wasn’t any use going on trying. But that’s no reason why he +should be killed, is it? or why you shouldn’t find out who killed +him? Ned says I shall get his money. Well, I don’t want it--I won’t +take it. I wish you’d have it and find out who killed him!” + +“If he _was_ killed,” Wilson said slowly, “the police will find out +who did it, I presume.” + +“If you knew Lockwood,” said Sylvia, a curl suddenly appearing at +the corner of her mouth, “you wouldn’t make silly suggestions. He +couldn’t find a murderer if he tried. Besides--he’d be sure to arrest +the wrong person.” + +“Oh, would he?” said Wilson, looking at her narrowly. She shifted +uneasily, and turned her eyes full on him. + +“Won’t you? Mr. Wilson--please?” + +“My dear lady, you must give me time to think it over. I haven’t got +my bearings yet. And, if I do take an interest, there are a great +many things I should want to know.” + +“Well, why don’t you ask them?” A motor horn honked long and angrily +outside. + +“It appears,” said Brandreth, who was nearest the window, “as though +this conference would shortly be increased in numbers. Do you want +Godfrey to come in and hold your hand, Sylvia?” + +“Damn Godfrey!” Sylvia’s expressive face changed again. “Of course I +don’t. Why can’t he leave me alone? I told him I should be half an +hour at least.” The horn sounded again. + +“He seems to be of the opinion that the half-hour has elapsed,” said +Brandreth. + +“He’ll have the whole town here in a minute, if he goes on making +that noise,” said Michael. + +“That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?” said Sylvia, with disconcerting +penetration. “You’d like to send me home tarred and feathered on a +cart-tail. I suppose you think I’m enjoying this. Oh, damn, there +he goes again! I suppose I’d better go and tell him to shut up. Mr. +Wilson, won’t you----” + +“You must let me think it over,” Wilson said firmly; but somewhat to +Michael’s disgust he accompanied the sinner downstairs. Brandreth, +after a little hesitation, followed them, while Michael sullenly +stared out of the window, and watched Sylvia Meston climb into a +small, but smart two-seater, whose driver, a dark, heavily built, +rather scowling fellow in motoring cap and coat, was presumably the +Squire. + +“What are you going to do?” he asked, when Wilson came back. + +“Get you to have another look at the body,” was the answer. “We can’t +do anything till we know a little more.” + +“I shan’t be allowed,” said Michael gloomily. “You heard what +Lockwood said.” + +“Oh, I think we can manage that. If necessary, I’ll disclose myself +to him. In fact, I’m not sure that it wouldn’t be best to do so, as +Brandreth seems incapable of keeping his mouth shut,” Wilson mused. + +“And then?” + +“Oh, then we’ll see. It’s an odd business, isn’t it?” + +“You don’t mean you’re going to take it up? Just because that girl +made sheep’s eyes at you! It’s the first time I ever knew you fall +for such an obvious siren, Harry,” said Michael in a hurt voice. +Wilson burst out laughing. + +“My dear fellow, don’t be so censorious. I was going to ask you +what you made of Mrs. Meston and her views, but you’ve made it +unnecessary.” + +“I don’t think what she meant me to think, anyway!” + +“I’m not so sure that I know what she meant you to think. The air +of this place isn’t good for you, Michael. If you continue in this +strain, I shall begin to think that you slew Meston yourself in an +attack of dyspepsia.” + + + + + CHAPTER X + + +“There’s the mark,” Colonel Lockwood said. “Right under his hair, as +you see.” They were standing, late in the evening of the same day, +in the dark little mortuary, whose only light was an oil lamp, which +shed a sickly greenish ray on the face of the corpse. Neither Wilson +nor Michael, however, was enough of a novice to be moved in any way +by their physical surroundings; and the latter coolly got out his +electric torch and bent to survey the bruise. + +Whatever charm it was that Wilson had employed on the +Colonel--perhaps only the disclosure of his own identity--it had +worked a considerable change in the latter’s manner to Michael. It +was a very worried and perplexed, but not a truculent soldier, who +came to the inn after dinner to conduct them to the mortuary; and his +one desire appeared to be that Michael should have all the facilities +he required. Dr. Kershaw, Michael noted with pleasure, either had not +been invited to be present, or had decided not to come. + +“It’s hardly serious enough to cause death, Kershaw says,” the +Colonel remarked to Wilson; “but it’s quite sufficient to cause him +to break his neck, if he was falling at all hard. Well, doctor, what +d’you make of it?” + +Michael made no answer, but motioned to Wilson to take his place. His +brow was puckered with perplexity. Wilson, in his turn, bent over the +corpse and examined the head closely, opening the mouth, feeling +the cut under the hair, and passing his hands around the skin of the +neck. When, after three or four minutes, he too straightened himself, +the light fell for a moment full on his face, and Michael read in it +a confirmation of his own opinion. + +“Is it all serene, doctor?” the Colonel asked again. + +“I’m afraid _not_,” Michael said gravely. + +“Why? What’s the matter?” + +“There _is_ a contusion,” Michael said; “and it might have been +sufficient to break his neck, if he had been alive when it was made. +But it was made after death.” + +“After death! What do you mean? You can’t know that.” + +“Pardon me. If you look at the skin now----” Michael drew him to the +body, and gave a brief technical explanation. “That wound was made +after death,” he ended, “and some considerable time after death, too.” + +“Then--he didn’t hit his head as he fell in. He must have hit +something while he was in the water.... Of course, he struck the +barge, or the barge struck him.... But, in that case, how did he +break his neck?” + +“Precisely,” said Michael. “How did he break his neck?” + +“I suppose,” the Colonel pursued his agitated reflections, “that must +have been the barge too--or something else he hit up against while +he was in the water. He _could_ have broken his neck after death, +couldn’t he, doctor?” + +“In that case, Colonel Lockwood, what did he die of?” + +“Good God! I see what you mean. In that case, he _must_ have been +drowned.” + +“Well, you’ve had the post-mortem, haven’t you? What did the doctors +say?” + +“I think they disagreed, at first. But finally they both reported +that death could not possibly have been due to drowning.” + +“But the man is dead.” + +“Not much doubt of that, poor fellow,” said the Colonel. “But I don’t +quite follow you, doctor. What are you suggesting?” + +“What _did_ the doctors find to be the cause of death?” + +“A broken neck, they suggest, consequent upon his hitting his head in +a fall.” + +“Well, he didn’t. Not in that place, anyway--though I can’t think how +I came to miss it yesterday,” said Michael. + +“If you made a mistake yesterday,” said Colonel Lockwood hopefully, +“don’t you think it may be possible that you’re making another +to-day?” + +“I’m afraid not. You see, I’ve had plenty of time to-night.” + +“Then what in hell _did_ the man die of?” + +“I think I can answer that,” said Wilson, who had been standing +silently by. He went back to the corpse. “Look at that, Michael,” +he said. Michael bent down, and gave a horrified exclamation. “Good +God!” he said. + +“You agree?” said Wilson. + +“What is it?” the Colonel asked. + +“He’s been strangled,” said Michael slowly. + +“_What?_ What’s that?” said the Colonel, now thoroughly alarmed. +“What fairy-tale is this, sir?” + +“Look for yourself,” said Michael. “Take my torch and the lens. Do +you see that mark? It goes right round the neck--here--and here; +that’s the mark of a rope--a very fine rope----” + +“Probably a silk rope,” said Wilson. “I think there’s a silk fibre +there.” He took it off as he spoke, and held it out for Michael and +the Colonel to see. + +“You’re right,” said Michael. “You see, Colonel, the superficial +marks have been nearly obliterated by the water; but they’re quite +plain when you’ve noticed them. And that explains some things that +had puzzled me about his face. I thought he didn’t look like a +drowned man.” + +“But, good God,” the Colonel said again, “I can’t believe it! You say +the poor devil was strangled. That means, as far as I can see, that +it wasn’t accident--or suicide.” + +“The case,” said Michael grimly, “is one of murder.” + +“Is that your view too, Mr. Wilson?” asked the Colonel. Wilson +nodded. The three stood still for a moment, facing the fact, in the +dark, half-lighted room. + +“He was strangled,” the Colonel repeated. “Strangled! But how?” + +“With a silk rope,” said Michael. + +“And in a rather peculiar way,” Wilson added. “Did you notice the +position of the marks, Michael?” He illustrated on his own neck, +while the Colonel shuddered in horror. “Do you remember, they come +close up under his chin, and then slope up at the back of his head? +And his neck was broken. Doesn’t that suggest anything to you?” + +“Good God!” said Michael, as Wilson’s meaning came gradually home to +him. “It’s not possible. You don’t mean----?” + +Wilson nodded, and Michael took hold of the bench for support. He was +feeling slightly sick. + +“Mean what?” asked the Colonel. “You’re talking in riddles. _How_ was +he strangled?” + +“He was hanged,” said Michael in a low voice. The brutality of +the crime appalled him, but “appalled” is no word to describe the +Colonel’s appearance. + +“_Hanged!_” he said in a stupefied voice. “_Hanged!_ But what do you +mean? _Hanged?_” + +“Hanged by the neck until he was dead,” Wilson said slowly. The +meaning of his words began gradually to dawn on the Colonel. + +“Hanged!” he said at last. “But--who on earth would hang him?” + +“That, I imagine,” said Wilson, “is what has now to be discovered.” + +For a minute or two the soldier paced up and down the mortuary, +with a look of desperate perplexity on his face. Then it suddenly +lightened a trifle, and he turned to Wilson. + +“But, surely,” he said, “what you’ve just said is compatible with +suicide at least. A man may hang himself.” + +“A man may hang himself,” Wilson replied, “but he certainly can’t +cut himself down and throw away the rope. If it was suicide, all +the circumstances go to show that some one else is pretty deeply +implicated. And I don’t need to tell you, Colonel, that complicity in +suicide is murder in the eyes of the law.” + +The Colonel looked up at him with a face from which all hope had +fled. “What am I to do now?” he said piteously. “I never had a murder +to handle before, much less--this sort of murder.” + +“Do you want me to help?” Wilson asked. “I’ve no business here, you +know, unless you call me in. This is your show.” + +“Do you think I want it?” the Colonel groaned. “I’m a plain man, +Mr. Wilson, and I know when waters are too deep for me. Here’s a +man brutally murdered, and I haven’t the ghost of a notion how or +why--the murderer may be my own butcher, for all I know! Will you +help me, Mr. Wilson? Or do you want an official letter?” + +“Your word will do, I think,” said Wilson, smiling a little in +spite of the situation. “But you realise we may be in for rather an +unpleasant time?” + +“I do,” said the Colonel, with emphasis. “But if you’ll help me--I’ll +put myself entirely in your hands.” + +“I’ll do the best I can,” said Wilson. “Let’s consider the inquest, +then; that’s the first question. When is it?” + +“Two-thirty to-morrow.” + +“Who is the coroner?” + +“Dr. Evershed, from Malton.” + +“A good man?” + +“I think so. But he’s a friend of mine,” said the Colonel, who had +apparently come to the conclusion that suspicion must immediately +rest on every one of his acquaintance. + +“Well, I think you’d better prime him to take no more than the +absolutely necessary evidence to-morrow--identification, of course, +and the bargees, and the sergeant, and Dr. Kershaw--and then +adjourn, if necessary. Above all, see that he doesn’t call Dr. +Prendergast, or let out a hint of our discoveries to-night. And keep +my presence dark--if you can,” said Wilson, remembering the garrulous +Brandreth. + +“But why all this secrecy?” + +“Well, we don’t want to give the murderers full warning, do we?” +said Wilson, with what Michael considered remarkable patience. “If +I dared, I would like the coroner’s jury to bring in a verdict of +misadventure. But it’s not safe; there’s been too much talk, and +some juryman or other would be sure to ask awkward questions. So Dr. +Evershed will just have to keep it as brief as he can. I’d better +have a word with him myself, perhaps, if you don’t mind.” + +“We’ll have to let Kershaw know,” the Colonel said, “or he’ll be +giving misleading evidence.” + +“So much the better for us,” said Wilson. “No, seriously, Colonel, +I must insist that not a soul beyond ourselves knows what has taken +place in this room to-night. If Kershaw’s got his diagnosis wrong, +I’m afraid it’s his funeral.” + +“It’s hardly cricket, to let him down,” the Colonel objected. + +“Nor was it cricket to hang Meston. I’m sorry, Colonel, but we can’t +afford to be gentlemanly in this business. We’re agents of justice at +the moment--not of the M.C.C.” + +The Colonel sighed, but agreed. He was obviously too far out of his +depth to think of combating anything that Wilson laid down; and after +a few more brief interchanges, they parted. + +“I think that’s the most diabolical crime I’ve ever seen,” Michael +said, as they regained their room. + +“I’m not sure you’re not right,” was the reply. + +“And I’m really prepared to swear that mark on the head wasn’t there +when I saw the body yesterday.” + +“As long as you don’t swear it at the inquest, well and good.” + +“Then you don’t think I’m mad?” + +“Of course I don’t. I never did. Besides, that was a fresh mark--I +could see for myself.” + +“Then how the devil did it get there?” + +“That, perhaps, we shall discover in due course. I have only noted +who found it.” Michael stared. + +“Harry! Do you mean to suggest that _Kershaw_ murdered the man, and +then tried to cover up the traces?” + +“We can’t go as far as that, yet,” said Wilson. “But you observe +there is a pretty good reason for not interfering with Dr. Kershaw’s +evidence.” + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + +“It won’t be quite as easy as you think, Mr. Wilson,” Dr. Evershed +said doubtfully. “The people in these parts are an infernally +inquisitive crowd, and I gather there’s been a good deal of talk. I +don’t quite know how I’m to avoid calling Dr. Prendergast.” + +“If you call him, and he doesn’t answer, that’s good enough, isn’t +it?” Wilson said. They were all three having a morning consultation +at Colonel Lockwood’s house. “I’ve been thinking for some time that a +trip to Colchester would do you good, Michael.” + +“Do I want to go to Colchester?” Michael inquired mildly. + +“You won’t be allowed to go to the inquest, in any event,” Wilson +said firmly, “so you might as well be in Colchester as anywhere +else. I’ll think of something to amuse you. Then he can’t be called, +Dr. Evershed; and you can perfectly well agree to ask the police to +look into his evidence. I don’t think anybody here has the slightest +suspicion that it was murder, except old Brandreth, and I’ve done my +best to shut his mouth, though I judge it’s an unusually wide one.” + +“Meanwhile, I suppose I’ve got to set about finding the murderer,” +Colonel Lockwood groaned. + +“If you could find the place at which the murder took place, it would +be a step onward, at any rate,” Wilson said. + +“Don’t you think he was killed where he was thrown in, then--at the +Old Malting House?” + +“I don’t know if he was killed where he was thrown in. But I hardly +think he can have been thrown in where he came up. Do you know the +river-bed there? I was examining it this morning. It’s almost free +of tangled weed--and there’s a considerable current. The stream just +there flows well on the left-hand side.” + +“You mean,” said Dr. Evershed, who was keenly interested, “that if +the body had been thrown in there on Friday night, it would have +floated down-stream?” + +“Precisely.” + +“Then it must have been thrown in farther up-stream,” the Colonel +triumphantly deduced. “How much farther up?” + +“That, I’m afraid, we can hardly say,” Wilson said, exchanging +a smile with the coroner. “Rivers don’t flow at a uniform pace, +nor do objects committed to their charge. The body might have got +into an eddy, or stuck in a patch of weed higher up. I’m afraid it +means examining the banks, however, for some distance up. If he was +killed by the riverside, and not brought from somewhere else--which, +of course, he may have been--there will probably be traces of a +struggle. Remember, you can’t hang a man in the air. He must be hung +_from_ something, and something pretty strong. Anyway, even if he was +only carried to the river, there may be signs of some sort. It’s been +dry as a bone this last week, which ought to help us. What is the +river scenery like above the Old Malting House?” + +“Meadow for four hundred yards or thereabouts,” the Colonel said, +“then thick woods for two or three miles. One side is Loring +property, and the other belongs to Sir Felix Lewis, the Stock +Exchange fellow. He’s away just now. The woods are very damp and +soggy, and there’s practically no firm ground but the tow-path. The +next crossing is by an old bridge at the end of Lewis’s woods, about +a quarter of a mile below Watergate Lock.” + +“Thanks.” Wilson was drawing a rapid sketch-map from the Colonel’s +directions. “The woods are private, I suppose? I’d rather like to +have a look up there this afternoon, Colonel, if you can provide +me with a boat and an inconspicuous man. I’ll go immediately the +inquest’s over, if you’ll tell him to be waiting by the bridge. We’ll +be off before the crowd comes along.” + +“Right you are,” said the Colonel; “I’ll send Collins.” And after a +little more conversation he departed, taking Dr. Evershed with him to +see the body. + +“That’s a sensible fellow,” Wilson said. “I feel I can trust him to +hold Lockwood’s hand and let as little as possible come out this +afternoon. I was rather in fear that our murderer would be provided +with a nice little warning.” + +“Do you know who he is, then?” + +“Indeed I don’t! I don’t even know his motive yet.” + +“I should have thought we’d heard motive enough, yesterday.” + +“Yes, of course. The trouble is, there’s too much motive; or, rather, +two perfectly plausible motives, each of which points to a quite +different set of persons. There’s the very significant fact, which +we heard yesterday morning, that Meston’s continued presence in +the world was a great trouble and inconvenience to his wife--and +presumably to any one else who might want to marry her. The trouble +with that motive is that, as far as we can see, it seems likely to +point to every marriageable male within miles.” + +“Surely it points to her, first of all?” Michael said viciously. + +“My dear Michael, surely even your prejudiced mind can take in that +this isn’t a woman’s crime. You don’t mean to suggest that that +girl hanged a twelve-stone man and then threw him in the river? If +she was concerned in any way, she must have had a fairly hefty male +accomplice; and, in that case, I hardly think she would be likely +to come and urge me to take the thing up. The only thing that is +suspicious about her is, first, that she clearly wanted to be rid of +him (though I don’t suggest her reaction to the sight of his corpse +was anything but genuine); and secondly, that she was so convinced +that he couldn’t have committed suicide. But that may be simple +observation. No, it is much more likely that one of the fair Sylvia’s +admirers, seeing in Meston a permanent obstacle, determined to remove +him. But which? It presumes a desperate character and a pretty strong +infatuation; for this, as you remarked, is not only a savage, but a +premeditated crime.” + +“Burden,” said Michael promptly. + +“Well, we don’t know, of course. We’ve only just seen his face, and +killing a pig isn’t evidence for killing a human. Besides, I can’t +somehow see a man of his kind taking an affair seriously enough. +He is too much in a position to have his pick. I haven’t seen his +infernal machine since yesterday, by the way. I wonder if he’ll turn +up at the inquest?” + +“Well, there must be plenty more.” + +“So one gathers; but one knows very little. Shane I’ve met; he’s not +in the least likely to compromise his career with murder. Besides, +he couldn’t think it out if he tried. Mackenzie I don’t know; he has +the reputation of a savage fellow, but you can’t build much on that. +At present, I gather, he’s not at the Grange. He was there not long +ago, but nobody seems to know exactly when he left. John Loring, the +discarded swain, would fit the part best, no doubt. But you can’t +very well murder a man from China.” + +“Well, _one_ of them ought to fit,” Michael said obstinately. + +“Maybe. But you’re forgetting the other motive.” + +“What’s that?” + +“The money. The embezzlement.” + +“Oh, that! But I don’t see how that throws any light. You don’t +murder a man because he’s embezzled funds--unless you are thinking +of an outraged client. Besides, he didn’t look like a successful +embezzler when I saw him.” + +“If he was an embezzler, he had presumably ceased to be successful +by the time you saw him,” Wilson reminded him. “But I agree. We’ve +nothing whatever, except Warden’s untrained conjecture, to suggest +that he _was_ an embezzler. But--I’ll just put this point to you. +Supposing he wasn’t the embezzler, but supposing he’d found out who +was? Would that provide a motive?” + +“You mean if he was tracking the real criminal,” Michael said +slowly. “And the man found out, and killed him. But, in that case, +who was he?” + +“Well, one would have to make inquiries in Colchester, obviously,” +Wilson said. “Remember, though, it would have to be somebody +fairly high up in the firm to get the opportunity. I know where my +suspicions would go.” + +“Hanborough!” Michael cried; “the senior partner.” + +“Yes. Or Warden.” + +“Mark! But that’s rubbish! You’ve seen him. He couldn’t cheat a fly.” + +“I’ve seen him,” Wilson admitted, “but it doesn’t do to go too much +by first impressions. No, keep your hair on. I’m not saying I suspect +him. I’m only really trying to warn you that some people may, so that +you may go carefully.” + +“But it’s ridiculous. He wasn’t even there at the time!” + +“Where? and at what time? We don’t know where Meston was murdered; we +don’t know exactly when. Because he was last seen at 10.30 on Friday +night, that doesn’t prove that he didn’t live for another twelve +hours afterwards. We shall have to be very careful in accepting +alibis for this business, Michael.” + +“But, surely--it’s much more likely to have been Hanborough than +Mark! He was senior partner; he was bound to know what was going on.” + +“That depends, I should say,” said Wilson, “on how much of his time +he spent at the Grange, and how much at the office.” + +“The more at the Grange, the more likely to have been the murderer!” + +“Michael, you really ought to be at the criminal bar. I never met +anybody so determined to import prejudice into a case. You know +nothing about Hanborough except that he employed an agent to look +into the matter, which isn’t, on the face of it, proof of guilt. I +think I’ll have a word with Mr. Strake, some time. But nobody here +seems to know much about Hanborough.” + +“Brandreth does,” said Michael. “Brandreth knows a great deal more +than he need.” + +“Yes. There’s something very odd about Brandreth, but what it is I’m +hanged if I know. Has it struck you, Michael, that the only people +who have been behaving suspiciously are people with no apparent +connection with the deceased--at least, no motive for getting rid of +him?” + +“Brandreth and----?” + +“Kershaw. Kershaw’s conduct so far is absolutely inexplicable on any +other hypothesis except that of guilt of some sort. Yet I can’t find +out that the two men ever exchanged a word.” + +“Kershaw’s up at the Grange a lot,” Michael said. “He might be in +love with Mrs. Meston, too.” + +“Then it’s odd Brandreth shouldn’t have mentioned it in his sheaf of +gossip.” + +“You can’t tell with Brandreth,” Michael said shrewdly. “He won’t +mention more than it suits him to mention. If Kershaw were guilty, +now----” + +“True, O sage. But this sort of speculation won’t get us much +farther, without a few more facts. How do you propose to get to +Colchester?” + +“Do you really want me to go there?” Michael asked in some surprise. +“I thought you only wanted me out of the way.” + +“That, primarily. But I don’t see why your enforced banishment +shouldn’t be profitable. There are a number of things which I think +might usefully be looked into.” + +“Go ahead. I’m your man--if you think I’m likely to do any good.” + +“Well, I want as much as possible found out about all the people +we’ve mentioned. First,” said Wilson, ticking them off on his +fingers, “there’s Meston himself. Make an excuse for going to the +office, if you can; and find out what’s thought of Meston, and +whether he’s likely to have been your embezzler. Then I want all you +can get hold of about Nicholas Hanborough, his circumstances, habits, +etc.; and particularly what he was supposed to be doing--when? What +should you say was the limit of time during which Meston could have +been killed?” + +“Oh, about twenty-four hours from the time he was last seen. +Certainly not more.” + +“Well, track Hanborough for that period, if you can. And in your +friend Warden’s interest, you’d better do the same for him. Then I +want any mortal thing you can find out about Kershaw--who he is, what +he did before he came here, etc. There doesn’t appear to be a medical +directory in this place. And you might see what you can pick up about +Sylvia Meston, or any of her friends, as well, would you? But, for +pity’s sake, put your own feelings temporarily in the background. You +won’t get any information if you begin by disclosing your hand.” + +“I’ll try,” Michael promised. “And, if I’m to do all this, I’d better +be going. I wonder if there’s a train.” + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + +Wilson sent an appraising glance round the occupants of the big room +at the Guild House, which the Church, in the person of the Vicar, +had presently resigned to the State, in the person of Dr. Evershed. +It was a good thing, he thought, that the room was a fair size; +for at least half the township seemed to be in attendance, and he +had even heard rumours of a special country bus service being run +from surrounding villages. Well, the enterprising bus owner would +presumably get his money’s worth, if nobody else did, Wilson thought, +commiserating in his heart the Essex citizens packed in a dusty room +on a hot July afternoon in the expectation of a sensation which he +had done his best to deny them. + +In the seats of honour, and probably much more conspicuous than they +desired to be, was a party obviously from the Grange. Sylvia Meston, +who had by this time acquired black clothes, in which she looked no +less effective than she did in white, was in the middle, and beside +her was Godfrey Loring in his rôle of protector. Riotous living had +dealt less kindly with him than with his cousin; at thirty-five the +marks of over-indulgence in food and drink, to say nothing of less +simple pleasures, were plain upon his face, though he was still +strong and athletic in build. He appeared to feel the physical +and moral atmosphere of the courtroom considerably, and every now +and then mopped his face and scowled round. Sylvia, on the other +hand, looked as cool as a cucumber. For the most part she kept her +eyes down; occasionally they swept the room with a look of defiant +amusement. + +Beyond Godfrey sat an extremely lean man, with a skin burnt to +mahogany, and brilliant blue eyes under dark overhanging brows. He +looked forty or over, and Wilson stared at him for some time with +a vague feeling of familiarity, before he could remember where he +had seen those features before. Then the front page of the _Daily +Express_, with a streamer headline, suddenly presented itself to his +consciousness, and he nodded with satisfaction. This was Mackenzie, +the Zambesi explorer. “Back again so soon!” Wilson thought. “This +does look like flies to a honeypot.” And he noticed in confirmation +that the burning blue eyes were fixed on Sylvia’s hands. On her other +side sat a man he could not place at all, a florid fellow in tweeds, +with a humorous twist to his mouth and a slightly grizzled head. +Wilson placed him as not quite a gentleman born, but could make no +further conjecture, though the man was clearly not a stranger, for +he smiled and nodded to one or two people in the room, including +Brandreth, who was sitting well back on the right. There were one +or two other nondescripts who might or might not have come from +the Grange, but no one else who interested Wilson. Wallace Burden +was not to be seen. Warden was there, looking very miserable, and +Strake, looking very pleased, besides Wason, and what appeared to be +the entire contents of the tap-rooms of Steeple Tollesbury. Having +completed his survey, Wilson sat back in his corner and devoted his +time of waiting to wondering what the apple-cheeked Mr. Brandreth had +in his mind. + +A little stir announced the arrival of the jury, rather pale and +subdued, after their viewing of the body. The proceedings went +exactly as Wilson had hoped. After the evidence of identity, the +laconic Bill and the more loquacious Jarge deposed to the finding of +the body, and Sergeant Linton then proceeded to give purely formal +evidence as to his own proceedings. No questions were put, but as +he retired there was a little stir of disappointment, and one man +emitted a sound which might have been the beginning of a protest. + +“If there is any disturbance,” Dr. Evershed said, looking fiercely +down his spectacles, “I shall clear the court. This is not a public +entertainment.” At this threat a funereal silence fell on the +assembly. + +Amory Kershaw, M.D., was next called, and Wilson, who had not seen +him before, looked at him with interest. He was a sallow, thin-faced +man of about forty-five, with blue chin, long nervous hands, and +an ill-tempered expression. He was clearly ill at ease as he came +forward, and stood for a second or two licking his lips and staring +round the court--presumably looking for Prendergast. Once he had +started, however, he gave his evidence clearly and impressively +enough. + +He had examined the body first on the barge, and had noticed the +broken neck. But he had made no thorough investigation at that stage. +This had been done by himself and his colleague in the mortuary, +where they had observed a contused mark on the back of deceased’s +head, which appeared to offer an explanation of the broken neck. +Deceased had evidently hit his head in falling into the water, death +being thus due, not to drowning, but to the breaking of the neck in +consequence of a fall. Kershaw glanced round, as Wilson thought, a +trifle defiantly, as he made this assertion. + +“Are you and your colleague in agreement on this point?” Dr. Evershed +asked. + +“We are.” + +At this point the inevitable juryman raised his voice to inquire +“whether the doctor thought it was an accident or something wrong +about it.” The coroner passed the question and looked at Kershaw, who +replied that while it was not strictly his business, he would say +that the state of the body was perfectly compatible with death by +misadventure. His colleague was not in court, but was in agreement +with him. + +“Any further questions?” asked Dr. Evershed sharply. “Then I declare +the inquest adjourned for a fortnight,” he went on, almost without a +pause. There was a quick buzz of surprise and annoyance, under cover +of which Wilson attempted to make his escape, but was displeased to +find his way blocked by an indignant shopkeeper, who was explaining +to all and sundry that it was too bad a man should be led to leave +his shop all afternoon, and promise Sue Bradley half a crown for +minding it, and then not hear half what he could have heard if he’d +stayed at home. “Disgraceful, I call it,” he said. + +“They’re deep ones, the police are,” said a woman. “They didn’t want +to say nothin’ wi’ that thar hussy listening. You mark my words, +there’ll be more to hear and see afore we’re much older.” + +At last Wilson succeeded in forcing his way out to the open air; but +at the door, much to his annoyance, he collided with Brandreth, who +greeted him with a cheerful smile. + +“Allow me to congratulate you on your stage management,” he said. +“You did that admirably--I suppose it was you? You’ve spoilt +everybody’s afternoon and given them only their own tales to eat. +Where’s the doctor?” + +“He had to go over to Colchester,” said Wilson, who did not want +to appear to shake the man off too obviously. “I notice Mr. Burden +didn’t put in an appearance either.” + +Brandreth chuckled. “Oh, he’s defaulted. Departed this morning, I +don’t know where. I gather this sort of publicity isn’t exactly what +he courts. Sylvia, I may add, is quite annoyed with him.” + +“Oh! Who was that taking his place?” Wilson asked, as he turned off +down the High Street towards the river--“the man sitting next to Mrs. +Meston, I mean.” + +“That?” said Brandreth. “Oh, that was Nicholas Hanborough.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + +Wilson pondered on that last piece of information as he made his +way to the river. So that was Nicholas Hanborough, senior partner +of Warden, Hanborough & Meston; and he was with the party from the +Grange, and he was sitting next Sylvia Meston, having ousted from +that place the blue-eyed explorer, who would obviously have given +much to fill it. This, Wilson thought, required reflection. Suppose +Hanborough were in love with Sylvia, and suppose he, the senior +partner, had been the real defaulter in that financial business. For, +in spite of his caution to Michael, Wilson was not at all disposed to +believe that young Warden was the villain of that piece--though, of +course, appearances might be deceptive. But Hanborough, who was, it +seemed, an habitué of the Grange, might well find himself pressed for +money, and if Meston were not only on his track, but also were the +husband of the woman he loved--well, there was motive enough for a +considerable crime. But, in that case, why put a private detective on +his own track? “Ropes of sand!” said Wilson reprovingly to himself. +“I don’t even know that Meston was on the track of anything. No use +conjecturing without more evidence.” + +At the bridge he found the discreet Collins with a boat and a +fishing-rod which several officious urchins were instructing him how +to manage, and climbed quickly in. Collins, who had been enlisted by +Colonel Lockwood specially from another village, was not very well +up in either the physical or the social topography of the place; and +though Wilson, in the intervals of peering over the bows to look for +any patch of weed which might have caught his corpse, made various +attempts to elicit information about his possible suspects, he met +with little success. + +As to Nicholas Hanborough, he could find out no more than that he +was a frequent visitor at the Grange, free with his money, and +pretty well liked in the neighbourhood, though his antecedents were +a matter of doubt. He had been partner of old Warden ten or a dozen +years, having come originally from London; and he was accepted by the +Grange rather than the county. But the county and the Grange, Wilson +surmised, were apt to differ in their judgment of people. + +Their progress was slow, for as soon as they had got a reasonable +distance above the Old Malting House, Wilson insisted on examining +the left bank as well as the bed of the stream. “I’ll do the other +bank myself on foot,” he said, “from the tow-path. But it doesn’t +look as though it would be very easy to get along here.” + +“No, sir,” Collins agreed. The left bank was sedgy and sodden and +full of holes, and the trees, which seemed to hold a good deal of +water in their roots, grew thick and close to the edge. There was no +sign of a track near the waterside. “But it wouldn’t be very easy for +any one to have a struggle, or get a dead body down to the water, +either, without leaving pretty clear marks. The ground’s very spongy +still, you see. It doesn’t look to me as though it ever dried.” + +“That’s true,” Wilson agreed, prodding a patch of sedge with his +boat-hook. “The body could have caught in half a dozen places just +under the bank, but I haven’t seen anywhere it could have got in. +Well, we must just carry on.” + +They carried on for a long while, patiently searching the bank, until +a bend of the river brought them in sight of the old bridge which +Colonel Lockwood had mentioned. + +“This is the first possible place on the left-hand bank,” Wilson +said. “I think I’ll just get out and have a look at it. Is it much +used, do you know?” + +“Not very much, sir, I think,” Collins replied. “It’s not safe for +heavy traffic, and it isn’t really much more than a cut between the +Grange and Sir Felix Lewis’s place.” + +Wilson climbed out and surveyed the bank. It did not contain many +indications of any kind, and certainly no signs of a struggle or +of the dragging down of a corpse to the waterside. As he crossed +the roadway, with a view to examining the farther side, his eye was +caught by the tracks of a small car coming and going. “Of course,” +he reflected, “if the murder took place at some distance from the +river, a small car would be very handy to run the body down to the +waterside. Still, there’s no particular reason why they should +take him across the bridge, and this car certainly crossed it.” In +the midst of these reflections he happened to raise his eyes and +glance across the bridge to the farther bank, and his whole figure +immediately stiffened with interest. + +“I think,” he said, “we’ll just have a look at the tracks of that +car. Of course, the odds are that it may have nothing to do with us; +but it seems to have passed at about the right time--not long after +the last rain fell.” + +“Yes, sir.” Collins followed in stolid surprise, which would have +been mitigated had he been aware of the object of Wilson’s attention. +This was a tree, which, when he had looked up, he had noticed +growing on the farther bank. This tree grew straight up for about +four or five feet, and then shot out at right angles to the trunk +an abrupt limb which continued for five or six feet horizontally +without branching in any way. Had a natural gallows been desired, a +better one could scarcely have been found, and just overhanging the +water too, which would swallow up the corpse immediately it was cut +down and bear it along to the Old Malting House. Decidedly, Wilson +thought, this tree, standing at the first firm crossing of the river, +had got to be investigated; and on the way he might as well keep +track of the car. + +“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a building on the opposite bank, +just by the tree. “A boathouse?” + +“Boat and summerhouse mixed, sir,” Collins replied. “’Tis on Sir +Felix Lewis’s property. Do you want to look at it, sir?” + +“May as well,” said Wilson. “But I’ll just see what happened to the +car first.” By this time Collins had tied up the boat, and joined +him on the bridge. “You see it turned off the road here, just by the +summerhouse, and stopped. It stopped some time, too--you can see that +the wheels sank in pretty deeply. They must have had quite a job +getting it out again.” + +“They, sir?” Collins inquired. “Was there more than one?” + +“It looks so,” said Wilson, “by the tracks. See here”--he +pointed--“these marks were almost certainly made by people getting +out of the car. And there are two of them, at least. That’s a man’s +foot, size ten. And there’s the mark of a woman’s high-heeled shoe--I +can’t see any print of the whole foot.” + +“They don’t look much like a struggle, sir,” Collins, who had been +following with enormous interest his first experience of tracking, +observed. “If they were connected with this affair.” + +“They don’t,” Wilson admitted. “Not in the least. Nor was one of +them carrying a heavy weight. I dare say they’ve really nothing to +do with us. However, we may as well finish them off. They went into +the boathouse, it appears.” He followed suit. “Confound it! too many +people have been in this boathouse. I shouldn’t have called it a +particularly nice place to sit, would you? Dark and damp and probably +earwiggy. Yet somebody’s been smoking cigarettes all over the place.” + +“Any particular kind, sir?” Collins asked. + +“Gold Flake, naturally! This habit of smoking cheap cigarettes is +most deplorable. One cannot arrive at any conclusions nowadays +from a man’s cigarette-ends--not even that they are a man’s. This, +however, is a little more distinctive.” Wilson picked up a bright +purple cigarette-tip. “Silk-tipped, scented Turkish. A nasty kind of +cigarette, but, fortunately, not quite as common as the other. Are +there any more of them?” + +“Several, sir,” said Collins, who had been scavenging. “And here’s +one that looks different, just outside the door.” + +“It _is_ different,” said Wilson. “That’s a Woodbine. That does tell +us something about the smoker’s class, at all events. What is called +the gentry doesn’t smoke Woodbines. Let’s look round the outside. +There may be some more. Hullo! What’s that?” + +In the wood behind the boathouse a sudden rustling had sounded. Both +men sprang towards the back, but only reached it in time to see a +ragged figure leap apparently out of the undergrowth and make a dash +for the road leading away from the river. + +“Hi, you there! Come back!” shouted Collins, and plunged heavily +after him. But the figure only ran the faster; and in a few seconds +Collins came back, hot and cursing. + +“He’s too quick for me, sir,” he explained apologetically. “Like his +darned sauce, hiding there and listening.” + +“Do you know him, then?” Wilson asked. + +“All our people do,” was the reply. “He’s Jerry Machin, regular +tramp, beggar, and sneak-thief, always up for poaching or vagrancy. +Perfect nuisance he is hereabouts; but he’s got a sharp tongue in +his head, and his sauce often gets him half a crown or so. I suppose +he’s been camping on Sir Felix’s property, free of charge; and +that’s why he made off. Yes, here’s his bed, you see, all complete.” +He indicated an elaborate nest of straw and dried leaves which +had been piled up against the back of the boathouse. “Here’s his +supper--pinched, I’ll bet. He left in a mighty hurry.” + +“And here’s his after-lunch smoke,” said Wilson, picking it up. +“He’s our consumer of Woodbines, I’m afraid. But he doesn’t appear to +have gone inside the boathouse. That was reserved for the use of the +Gold Flakes and the scented Turks--at least, I don’t see any trace of +any other cigarettes. I’ll just have one more look round.” + +He went back into the boathouse, and noted that the two smokers +appeared to have sat side by side in one corner for some time, +judging by the number of cigarettes they had consumed. From the +rather faint marks of their feet on the floor he concluded that they +were probably, though not quite certainly, the same pair who had +arrived from the car; and he found adhering to a splinter a small +piece of green silk, presumably from a woman’s dress. + +Going round again to the outside of the boathouse, his attention was +caught by what appeared to be the signs of some one having stood a +fair time in the long grass close by it. No footmarks were visible; +but the grass and earth had been heavily pressed down. And the +conjecture was confirmed by the discovery of a shred of grey tweed +caught on a projecting nail in the boathouse wall. There was nothing +very remarkable in that, of course; the only curious thing was that +just by the spot where the man (if it were a man) had stood, there +was a large knot-hole in the boathouse wall, a little more than five +feet above the ground. And, on approaching his face to the knot-hole, +Wilson found that it was immediately behind the place where he had +conjectured that his two smokers were sitting. Had there been a +conversation in the boathouse to which some one had listened outside, +and had that some one, perhaps, waited for the man in the boathouse +to come out, and then struck him down? In that case, was it Meston +who was in the boathouse? and, if so, who was with him? His wife? +But having regard to the conditions of the Meston ménage, it seemed +an odd rendezvous, and an oddly long discussion. Besides, the two in +the boathouse had probably, though not certainly, arrived in a car; +and Meston did not seem to have had access to any car. Meston’s foot +would, as far as Wilson had observed it, have fitted the male prints. +But then, probably, so would a good many other people’s. + +Was it possible, then, that it was not Meston who was inside the +boathouse, but Meston who stood outside watching? And did the watched +man then spring out suddenly and deal execution on the spy? There +was no particular sign of a struggle in the grass; but, of course, +Meston might have been taken by surprise. In that case, who was the +man in the shed?--and was it Sylvia Meston with him? The green silk +which his pocket-book contained might provide an answer to the last +question; but Wilson realised that he was building an altogether +extravagantly large hypothesis on the presence of the gallows-tree. +Ten to one the footmarks had nothing whatever to do with the case; +though, after examining them closely, he was inclined to believe +that they must have been made almost immediately after the last +rain--which had fallen, as he had ascertained, on the afternoon +preceding Meston’s disappearance. Last of all he examined the tree, +to see if there was any tell-tale trace left on it. But he could find +nothing definite. About half-way along the straight limb there was +a slight dip, resembling a saddle, where anything hanging from the +limb would naturally have rested. At this point the bark was rather +worn and rubbed, but there were no fibres of rope or any definite +indications visible. However, the bough was certainly marked. + +“Collins,” he asked his assistant, after standing a few minutes lost +in thought--“Collins, can you get your people to catch this Machin +for me? I want to talk to him.” + +“I should think so, sir,” Collins replied. “His regular haunts are +pretty well known. Do you think he had anything to do with it?” + +“I’ve no idea. But _if_ there was anything out of the way happening +here, he may have seen something of it. I should judge he’d been +using this as his hotel for some time. Anyway, it’ll do no harm to +ask him. A woman has been using this place as a rendezvous not so +long ago, at least.” + +“All right, sir,” Collins promised. “There’s some one in the wood, +just by the tow-path, sir,” he added. + +Wilson looked, and bit off an exclamation of annoyance. Not ten yards +away, just in the shelter of the wood, and concealed by a peculiarly +thick chestnut tree, sat Mr. Brandreth on a stump, with his hands +on his knees, presumably admiring the view of the river. As Wilson +approached, he came towards him, smiling. + +“Good hunting, I trust, Superintendent,” he said. “It’s a nice day +for sleuths, I should think.” + +What a Jack-in-the-box the man was, Wilson reflected. How long had +he been there, and how much had he seen or heard? Not that there was +anything particularly private about the afternoon’s proceedings, but +he did not wish to conduct all his investigations under the nose of +so leaky a vessel as the little solicitor. “Do you often come this +way?” he asked aloud. + +“Oh, now and then,” Mr. Brandreth assured him. “It’s a pleasant +enough walk. And I thought I might meet you.” + +“Oh! Why, in particular?” + +“Oh, I saw you going up-stream, and supposed you were after the place +where Meston’s body--er--confided itself to the waters. And this is +the first likely spot, of course. Had any luck?” + +“Nothing to speak of,” said Wilson. If this were to go on, he +reflected, he would soon get as irritable as Michael Prendergast. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + +Michael had always had an affection for Colchester. He liked the +Essex country; he liked quiet towns; and he had pleasant memories of +staying in some beautiful old houses in the High Street. However, +on this occasion he decided that his mission was too important to +admit of dallying with his friends, and armed with Wilson’s authority +(to be used, the authority had urged, only in cases of absolute +necessity), he set out on the novel task of picking up information. + +He began with an annoying setback. At Meston’s office he had not +expected to garner very much, and he was therefore not disappointed +when the clerk-in-charge refused to give him any but the barest +possible information. It was fairly obvious that the clerk knew that +there was something in the wind; it was equally obvious that he had +been strictly ordered to disclose nothing, and Michael did not feel +that he looked important enough to demand to see private papers. Mr. +Meston’s, he learned, were locked in the desk of the senior partner, +who had come over and taken them on the afternoon of the finding of +the body. Yes, Mr. Warden had been in the office at the time; in +fact, both partners had been in every day since Mr. Meston had left. +Neither of them was there at the moment. Mr. Hanborough had gone over +to the inquest, and Mr. Warden to his home. The clerk understood that +his father was worse. Michael was rather relieved, at the moment, +that this should be so, for he was not at all inclined to explain +his mission to Warden’s ingenuous mind; and, having acquired the +private address of both the other partners, he went on his way. + +As he reached the door of Meston’s house he saw a man emerging, and +wondered idly what his business was. He was not at all pleased to +gather, from his reception, that the man had come on approximately +the same errand as himself, and had, moreover, apparently pumped +Meston’s housekeeper dry. She did not actually turn him from the +door; but she provided no information, replying morosely that “she +couldn’t say” to direct questions, and rejecting all attempts to draw +her into conversation or gossip. In despair, Michael tried his last +resource, the production of Wilson’s card, but it seemed to carry no +weight with her. She would not even allow an inspection of the man’s +rooms. + +“What about Mrs. Meston’s?” Michael asked hopefully. + +“There ain’t nothing of hers here,” was the reply, with a pursing of +the lips which suggested that the speaker shared Michael’s views on +the lady’s character. “She took them all away when she came.” + +“Oh! When was that?” + +“Couldn’t say.” The housekeeper, seeming to feel that she had +inadvertently allowed a morsel of information to escape her, shut up +like a clam, and Michael, after a few more ineffective feelers, came +away in no very pleasant mood, and betook himself to Hanborough’s +house, which was a red brick villa a mile or so from the centre of +the town. + +His spirits were not brightened by passing, within a hundred yards +of the gate, the visitor who had preceded him to Meston’s house. The +man obviously recognised him, for he paused in his walk and looked +up almost as if he were going to speak. But he thought better of it, +and Michael passed on with the gloomiest anticipations of his coming +interview. + +The reality could not well have been worse. The maid who answered +the door refused to admit him on any pretext; and when he tried to +press her, the only result was to bring down a horrifying and voluble +old lady looking very like a macaw, who screamed furious denials at +him till he retired in despair, convinced that even Wilson himself +could not have got in without physical force. “Confound it! how _do_ +detectives get hold of information?” he muttered to himself as he +went away. + +His wrath was complete when, on turning into the main road, he beheld +the first caller obviously waiting to see him come out. “Damn the +man!” Michael thought. “I might as well give up my job if he’s going +to get in first and spoil my hand at every turn.” And he prepared his +best scowl for the interloper. + +The latter, however, seemed hardly to notice it, but as he came up +addressed him in a quite pleasant voice, though with a tinge of +officialism about it. “Dr. Prendergast?” he inquired. + +“You have the advantage of me,” said Michael sulkily. + +For answer, the stranger produced a card from his pocket, and handed +it over. It bore the name of Inspector Bille, of the Essex County +Constabulary. + +“Well?” Michael said, wondering. “What is it? Do you want to arrest +me?” + +Inspector Bille laughed, a low-powered chuckle. “No, indeed, sir,” he +said. “But I noticed you as I was coming away from Meston’s house, +and when I saw you here it struck me you might be wondering what I +was up to. Working with the Superintendent, I take it?” To the Forces +throughout the country, Wilson was always simply “the Superintendent.” + +“Yes,” said Michael, slightly mollified--“though I don’t know how you +knew me. I don’t think we’ve met before.” + +“Colonel Lockwood pointed you out, sir, this morning,” Inspector +Bille explained. “I was in two minds whether to stop you before you +went in.” + +“You might just as well have stopped me,” Michael grumbled, “for all +the help I got. You seem to have turned off the supply of information +pretty successfully at both places.” + +Bille laughed again. “Well, sir, people--particularly old Mrs. +Hanborough--don’t very much like answering questions, unless they’re +going to get their names in the papers. And if you’ll pardon me +saying so, you don’t look very much like a newspaper man.” + +“My own impression,” said Michael, “was rather that you’d forbidden +either her or Meston’s housekeeper to say a word to any one.” + +“We’re a bit exclusive, no doubt,” Bille said. “We don’t, in a +general way, encourage people to chatter more than they need. But +for the Superintendent, it’s a different matter, of course; and as +you’re, so to speak, his representative, if I understand rightly, +I’ll be happy to give _you_ any information I’ve got, sir. If you’re +not doing anything in a hurry, what about taking a spot of lunch with +me, and we’ll talk over anything you want to know?” + +Relieved by his affability, Michael made no demur, not even when +it appeared that the Inspector’s taste in lunches was quite other +than his own, and submitted to be seated in a little fly-blown +tea-shop-cum-restaurant, and fed on pale boiled mutton, with soapy +potatoes and nauseating greens. + +“What point exactly were you on, sir?” the Inspector began. “There’s +no one else here” (“And no wonder,” thought Michael, swallowing a +piece of gristle) “so you can talk quite freely, if you don’t raise +your voice too much.” + +Michael passed on Wilson’s commissions about Meston and Hanborough. + +“Yes, I thought so,” the Inspector said. “Now this is what I’ve been +able to pick up. It mayn’t be much, but it’s something. There’s +something very wrong with Meston’s firm, and what’s more, he knew +about it, whether innocently or guiltily I can’t say for certain. +The last week or so before his departure, he’d been taking the books +home almost every night, and looking as worried as a sick cat in the +daytime.” + +“Did you see his private papers?” Michael interrupted. “The clerk +wouldn’t let me look at them.” + +“I expect he would if I’d asked him,” said the Inspector, not above +rubbing in the advantages of belonging to the regulars; “but I +thought I’d let it lie a bit. If Meston should happen to be innocent, +sir, you see, we don’t want parties that may happen to be guilty--of +anything--too wise to what we’re doing.” + +“You think Meston was innocent?” + +“I shouldn’t like to say definitely. All I can say is, if he’s guilty +he’s put it away pretty carefully. There’s no sign of his having +been flush at any time in the past few years; there’s nothing odd +about his banking account, and nothing in his will (I’ve seen his +lawyer) that’s any way out of the common. I expect you know, sir, his +wife gets a life-interest as long as she doesn’t marry again; but +there’s very little that doesn’t die with him. Not above two or three +hundred, I should say.” + +“Is it true she’d removed all her personal property from her rooms? +And if so, why?” + +“Oh, you got that, sir? Yes, it’s quite true. It was while he was +with you--at the Old Malting House, I should say” (as Michael gave +a wriggle of repudiation). “As to why, it seems she was meaning to +leave him finally. What’s more to my mind is, where did she take ’em?” + +“Why, to the Grange, surely. Where else?” + +“Well, I don’t know. She may or she may not. She’d Mr. Burden, the +actor, with her, for one thing.” + +“Running over pigs in Meadon!” Michael interjected. + +“That’s so, sir. Of course, she may’ve had anything in her mind. +The housekeeper, who hates her like poison, as good as told me +she’d killed him. Curious how nobody that knows him here cottons +to the idea of suicide. Most of ’em would put it down to his good +lady--though not with any notion how she could have done it, of +course.” + +“Well, Hanborough? What about him?” + +“Ah, there’s more there, I fancy, than you found. Mr. Hanborough’s +been dipping a bit, there’s no doubt; and from all I’ve heard one +way and another, it’s pretty clear he could always do with a little +extra cash. And this Strake, whom he’s put on to look into matters, +is an old clerk of his whom he sacked; and it’s well known that he +could have had him in the dock if he’d liked. So it’s not likely, to +say the least of it, that he was intended to find out anything that’d +make against Mr. Hanborough’s interests. He’s free with his money, is +Mr. Hanborough, and well enough liked hereabouts; but Newmarket’s a +bit too near for him, if you get me. And about two years ago he was +pretty heavily in debt, which he’s been clearing slowly. I’ve one or +two more points of that kind, which I can work up more closely if +I need to. I don’t want to be starting a lot more talk to-day, you +see--particularly since I’ve found out that Mr. Hanborough wasn’t at +home the night Meston was murdered.” + +“Oh!” said Michael. “Why, where was he?” The Inspector sat back, well +pleased with his effect. + +“He left home, sir, about 9 p.m., saying he was going to a party at +the Grange and would be in early in the morning. Then he didn’t get +back till after ten next day. His wife’s away, but I got this from +his mother--the old lady you saw. Well, of course, it may be all +right, and it may not--but we’d better keep our eyes----” + +At this point the Inspector suddenly stopped, and devoted his +attention to a slab of rice pudding. Michael, seeking an explanation, +saw a slim, fair-haired girl in blue, whose face seemed vaguely +familiar to him, enter rather hurriedly and sit down. He telegraphed +an inquiry. + +“Miss Loring,” the Inspector whispered in reply. “The Squire’s +sister.” + +So this was Mark Warden’s fiancée. On inspection, Michael decided +that he liked her looks. She was obviously a good fifteen years +younger than her brother, an open-faced, blue-eyed child who +probably valued Warden as much for his cricket as for any other +quality. At the moment she seemed worried and anxious; her fair brows +were knitted, and she looked round the room rather nervously from +time to time. + +Michael, on a sudden impulse, leaned over to the Inspector. “I think +I’d like a word with Miss Loring,” he said in a low voice. “Her +fiancé’s a friend of mine. There isn’t anything else we ought to +discuss here, is there?” + +“Not as far as I’m concerned, sir,” said the Inspector impassively. +“Anyway, I ought to be getting along. I’ve an appointment at the +Colchester station at two-forty-five. But you’ll remember, sir, +fair’s fair. If you or the Superintendent do get any information +bearing on these matters, I would take it very kindly if you’d pass +it on.” + +“I’ll see you have it--if I get anything worth having, which +personally I very much doubt,” Michael promised. “Good-day.” And, +leaving the Inspector stolidly consuming pudding, he made his way to +Edna Loring’s side. “At any rate,” he thought, as she lifted her eyes +and looked at him with frank amazement, “she’s not a siren.” + +Siren or no, the girl seemed pleased enough to see him, when once she +had grasped who he was. She declined lunch, saying she had already +had it, but demanded coffee, rather to Michael’s astonishment, since +he could hardly imagine that even unsophisticated youth (if there was +such a thing at Loring Grange) would deliberately choose to drink +its coffee in broken-down tea-shops. The coffee, when it arrived, +confirmed him in this view; but Edna drank it without comment, and +even demanded a second supply. Michael began to get a little puzzled. +What _was_ the Squire’s sister doing here, unattended? and still +more, why did she appear so content, nay, even pleased, with his +rather humdrum company? Michael was no more modest than most men, but +he had never had reason to think himself specially attractive to the +opposite sex. Nor could he now believe that Edna Loring was moved by +any strong personal feeling for him. + +She talked, certainly; indeed, it would not be wholly untrue to say +that she chattered. But it was of entirely indifferent things--the +weather, the prospects of Essex county cricket, the various breeds +of sporting dogs, etc.; and she did not appear to have the slightest +interest in the matters which one would have imagined they had most +in common. She mentioned Mark’s health, and his family, but not his +business or his business prospects; and a tentative reference to +Mr. William Meston elicited only a downright opinion that he was +better dead, after which she quite plainly shelved the subject. If +he had not had an uneasy conviction that he was playing truant, like +a schoolboy, from the business he had been set to do in Colchester, +Michael, after his humiliating experiences of the morning, would +have thoroughly enjoyed himself. He liked cheerful, downright young +things, when they were willing to talk to him, and he liked Edna +Loring particularly. But he could not help feeling a little guilty, +and at the same time wondering more and more why the girl should want +to detain him talking there. + +He had just reached the conclusion, absurd though he felt it to be, +that she was contemplating an unpleasant interview or task of some +sort for which she wanted a protector, when she suddenly looked at +her watch, and asked, in a quite different tone, “Dr. Prendergast, +would you like to do me a service?” + +“Ah!” thought Michael to himself. “Now we’re coming to it.” Aloud +he only said, “I should be delighted,” with more sincerity than he +expected in his voice. Indeed, he would have been quite pleased to +help the girl--if he could reasonably do so. + +“Then drive me back to the Grange.” + +“What!” This was the last request he would have anticipated. + +“Drive me back to the Grange,” Edna Loring repeated, looking at him +earnestly. + +“But----” Michael, rather disconcerted, temporised. “I haven’t got a +car. I came over by train. And I can’t drive to speak of.” + +“Oh!” Edna obviously thought this an odd state of things. “Well, you +could hire one, couldn’t you?” + +“But--didn’t you come by car?” + +“Yes, but it’s Wallace’s. Wallace Burden’s, you know. And I don’t +want him to drive me back. I want _you_ to take me back, if you will.” + +“But doesn’t Mr. Burden want to go back?” said Michael obtusely. + +“Yes, he does. And I don’t want him to. Don’t you see?” As Michael +apparently did not, she added impatiently, “Oh, Dr. Prendergast, +you do make it difficult! Must I put everything in words of three +letters? I don’t want Wallace because I don’t want him to make love +to me, don’t you see?” + +“But----” Michael was conscious of gaping like an idiot, but the +sudden shift of Mr. Burden’s affections was too much for him. “But I +thought--Mrs. Meston----” + +“Yes, that’s what I mean. I don’t want any more of Sylvia Meston’s +cast-offs. And I don’t like Wallace, anyway.” + +“Cast-offs?” Michael repeated. + +“Well, you know what I mean. You all but said so yourself. Wallace +and Sylvia had a row of sorts this morning. So he hadn’t anything +to do, and he offered to drive me into Colchester. I didn’t know +anything about it then, or I wouldn’t have let him. Of course, I +found out as soon as we’d started, and then--pah! I always seem to +get hold of people who want to hold Sylvia’s hand, and think mine +will do next best if they can’t get it. I used to slap them,” said +Edna reflectively, surveying her own vigorous brown hand, “but you +can’t slap people for ever. I hate men!” she finished suddenly. + +“Including Warden?” Michael asked, with slight amusement. + +“Mark! _Mark_ isn’t men! Oh, don’t be silly; you know what I mean. +Of course, if I could get hold of Mark, I shouldn’t be asking you. I +mean----” At this point Edna, realising her extreme candour, burst +out laughing. “I don’t suppose I can pretend that was tactful, Dr. +Prendergast. But I thought you’d understand. Truthfully, there’s +been such a bother lately that I’ve got fed up. I almost thought of +running away at one time; and if I have much more of Wallace, I shall +commit murder or something. You do see that, don’t you? I got rid +of him after lunch, and came in here because I thought I’d be safe; +but I’ve half promised to let him take me to tea with some people +he knows. And then we’re going home. Well, I simply can’t face it. I +know Wallace, and he’s like a hippopotamus; he can’t believe that any +innocent young thing wouldn’t give a thousand pounds to squeeze his +hand. So, when you came over, I wondered if you weren’t an angel from +heaven--you know what I mean”--as Michael laughed--“and if we could +arrange to go back together, and give Wallace a hint, it would be so +much nicer. But probably you can’t.” + +“But if he’s a hippopotamus,” Michael, finding the situation +embarrassing if pleasant, suggested, “will he take a hint? And I +really can’t drive.” + +“Oh, Wallace won’t make a third,” said Edna, with decision. “If I +say I’m going with you, he’ll go off somewhere and sulk. He won’t +call you out. Of course, if you can’t drive, you can’t. But I could +drive. Or we could hire a man with the car, and he could take it back +from the Grange. That would perhaps be the best way. Would you mind +very much, Dr. Prendergast? I should be most awfully grateful--if you +could bear it.” + +Michael was not at all sure whether he minded or not; but eventually +he agreed, subject to Edna’s herself undertaking to get rid of the +spare cavalier, and subject also to his being given the afternoon to +make one more attempt to acquire the information for which he had +been sent. He liked the girl, and his sympathy for her immediate +predicament was enhanced by the cordial dislike of Wallace Burden +which he had conceived from the first glimpse he had caught of that +gentleman’s classic profile. His friends’ fiancées, whether or not +desirable in themselves, ought to be preserved from Wallace Burdens, +he felt. There was, further, the added chance, whose attractiveness +he would not have admitted to himself, of seeing at close quarters +the ménage at the Grange, of which so many rumours were current. +Michael was himself quite certain that the Grange was the kind of +place to harbour any number of murderers; and possibly a visit there, +under Edna Loring’s wing, might provide him with a clue. So, moved +by a mixture of chivalry, wrath, and curiosity, he consented to go +and hire a car, and to meet Edna again for tea at a somewhat more +inspiring rendezvous--Burden, it was to be hoped, being by that time +satisfactorily removed from the picture. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + +As luck would have it, just as Michael was completing his +negotiations about a car to take them back to the Grange, Wallace +Burden himself came into the garage to collect his own Talbot. He +looked as offensively handsome as ever, and Michael wanted nothing so +much as to knock him down; but as the man had been standing by the +office wicket while the transaction was taking place, including the +name of the hirer and the destination of the car, and had obviously +listened with interest, Michael thought that it might prove rather +awkward if he did not explain. Accordingly, he briefly described his +meeting with Edna Loring, his friend’s fiancée, and his intention of +taking her home; and was considerably surprised, not to say pleased, +to find that the actor seemed more relieved than otherwise. + +“Oh, very well,” Burden said. “In that case, I’ll be getting on +to town, I think. Will you tell Miss Loring for me, and thank her +for her hospitality and all, you know? Matter of fact,” he added, +with a grin, “it’s a bit overdone for me, I must say--with all this +excitement recently. Look here, Dr. Prendergast,” with a sudden +movement he took Michael by the arm and dragged him out into the +street, “you found this fellow Meston, didn’t you? Well, you know +they’re saying he’s been murdered. What’s your view about that, eh?” + +“I’m afraid I can’t say,” said Michael, who had no intention +of being pumped in this quarter. “I have nothing to do with it, +officially. Why didn’t you go to the inquest, if you want to know?” + +“And be asked a lot of damfool questions by a silly coroner? Not +likely,” the actor said, with an angry shrug. “Do you think I want +to be mixed up with a murder case? Loring ought to keep his damned +village in better order, if he wants people to stay in it. No, thank +you. I’m off--if you’ve nothing to tell me?” + +“Nothing at all, I’m afraid,” said Michael, shaking him off. He was +so glad to see the last of him that it was not until he was well +inside the public library and had secured the _Medical Directory_ +that it occurred to him to wonder at the reason of this sudden +departure, immediately a suspicion of murder was raised. Was Wallace +Burden putting a convenient distance between himself and any too +inquiring policeman? And ought Michael to have warned anybody in +authority? However, Inspector Bille, after their brief lunch, had +completely disappeared, and Michael did not feel equal to tackling +the Colchester police force. He decided that it would be enough if +he informed Wilson on his return, and set to work to look up Dr. +Kershaw’s medical record. + +Dr. Amory Kershaw had graduated M.D. from Guy’s Hospital in 1904, +with a good degree. After that, he had held two or three temporary +posts of the kind normally occupied by newly qualified men, and had +then become physician to a fair-sized Midland hospital, where he +had remained till 1910. He had, in the meantime, published one or +two monographs on medical subjects, and, as far as Michael could +judge from the _Medical Directory_, was on the high-road to become +a distinguished physician. But after 1910 there was a gap, and in +1913 he reappeared in some unintelligible job in Stamboul, which +he had apparently held until he left to join the army in 1915. +After the war, in which his career had been perfectly normal, he +had taken on this Essex practice, which he had retained ever since, +becoming police-surgeon in 1924. The only two points of suspicion +in the record were the gap between 1910 and 1913, followed by a +distant appointment, and the rather humdrum work to which a man of +exceptionally high qualifications had apparently settled down. The +latter might, of course, be due to war injuries; but the _Medical +Directory_ is not exactly a repository of gossip, and Michael had no +real hope of finding out anything else. He called at a friend’s house +in Colchester, and made some inquiries; but it did not appear that +Dr. Kershaw was known so far afield. About Meston and Hanborough, +on the other hand, every one was willing to talk--and the latter’s +fondness for good company and the former’s hatred of it were becoming +as familiar to Michael as the palm of his hand by the time he kept +his rendezvous. One fact which puzzled him not a little, but which +was attested by more than one witness, was that Meston, in the last +week or so of his life, had been observed more than once in the +company of bookies. Had the virtuous man fallen from grace at the end? + +Tea with Edna Loring was a refreshing and enjoyable affair. Relieved +of the incubus of Burden, and highly amused at the manner of his +departure--“I suppose that was what he quarrelled with Sylvia +about”--Edna talked happily all through the meal, and Michael was +both surprised and annoyed when the hired car appeared. As he was +handing the passenger in, a sudden voice said, “Hullo, Edna!” and a +tweed-clad, florid-faced person with a cheerful smile appeared. + +“Hullo, Nick!” Edna responded; and introduced Mr. Hanborough. Mr. +Hanborough appeared to enjoy a casual chat, and detained them some +little time before they could get away, congratulating Edna on having +had the sense to avoid the inquest, which had proved a complete frost +in the matter of sensation. + +“They didn’t even call the doctor fellow who had a row with Kershaw +about the cause of death,” he said, as they were parting. “And +Evershed shut up any poor chap who so much as whispered. If you ask +me, the police ought to have a compulsory training in elementary +psychology. The amount of unsatisfied curiosity there was in that +room this afternoon would drive a dozen men to murder. Well, +good-bye, my dear, and good luck.” + +“I say, Dr. Prendergast,” Edna asked, as they drove away, “were _you_ +the mysterious doctor who disagreed?” + +Michael admitted it, but declined to enter upon discussion, and as +soon as he could changed the subject, and once more began making +inquiries about Nicholas Hanborough. Edna, who appeared to like the +senior partner, answered willingly for some time, though she was +obviously more and more puzzled; but when Michael began asking her +about Hanborough’s doings on the night of Meston’s death, she gave a +gasp of amazement. + +“Why, he was at our dance, of course! Dr. Prendergast, what is the +matter with you? Any one would think he was a criminal, and you were +trying to test his alibi!” + +“Well,” Michael considered, “that was the night Meston died, wasn’t +it? And no one knows yet whether it was an accident--or whether he +killed himself--or whether some one killed him. I mean--there’s talk +of some financial trouble between Meston and Mr. Hanborough, and it’s +possible that some one may want to know where he was that night.” + +“I see,” said Edna. She turned her face to Michael, and the latter +was surprised to see how white it had become. “Well, they needn’t +ask. He was at our dance.” + +“All the time?” + +“Yes. Well, I can’t say every minute. But he was about nearly all the +time. I mean, I noticed him almost every time I looked up.” + +“How long did it go on?” + +“Till about six. But Nick didn’t go then. He and I and several others +drove over to Little Friday and had breakfast. It was too fine to go +to bed. Then we stayed in the woods a bit. We didn’t get back till +after nine. Then Nick went back. He said he’d got to get home, and +then to the office.” + +And he arrived about then, Michael reflected. That looked like an +alibi, at any rate for the earlier part of the twenty-four hours he +had mentioned to Wilson. Edna Loring, he felt in his bones, was a +good witness. He would have acquitted any one on her evidence. But +why did she look so worried? + +“Dr. Prendergast,” she said suddenly, “why are you asking this? Why +should you--or any one else--think Nick Hanborough has anything to do +with Mr. Meston’s death--however he died? What does it matter where +he was?” + +“Well,” Michael hedged, “he knew Meston well, and----” + +“So did dozens of people! And you aren’t bothering about them. Why +about Nick? Is it--because he was his partner? Is it anything to do +with that money business?” + +So she knew! Whether Mark had been less than discreet, or whether +the long tongues of Steeple Tollesbury had been busy about that as +well as everything else, did not seem to matter. She knew, and she +was alarmed. This could only point to one person--Mark. On a sudden +impulse Michael leaned forward and took her hands in his. He could +feel them shaking. + +“Miss Loring,” he said gently, “won’t you let me help you?” + +The girl stiffened, and was silent. “Is it about Mark?” Michael +pressed. A slight twitch was the only answer. “Listen,” Michael said. +“I’ve known Mark for a long time--though not as long as you have--and +it would be sheer nonsense to suggest his having anything to do with +anything doubtful. If there’s something, I don’t know what, that +worries you--something that wants explaining--I’m quite sure it can +be easily explained. Whatever has or hasn’t happened to Meston, it’s +absolutely certain _Mark_ had nothing whatever to do with it. Can’t +you trust me?” + +Not exactly the professional detective’s manner, Michael thought. But +it had its reward at once, in the look of relief that came into Edna +Loring’s face and the return of the colour to her cheeks. + +“Oh, you _are_ nice!” she said appreciatively. “It was only--I got +into an idiotic panic for a minute, you sounded so portentous. As if +you were meaning to arrest Nick the next moment, if he couldn’t say +where he was that night. But I knew he was at the party, and then I +suddenly remembered that Mark--Mark wasn’t.” + +“Wasn’t he?” + +“At least, he was and he wasn’t. I mean, he came to the party--only +he hated it, and went away soon after midnight, I think it was. And I +know he didn’t go home, because he told me he’d spent ages wandering +about--he does that, sometimes. Then when I thought you were asking +about Nick just because he was that man’s partner--I simply went cold +all over. I can’t think how I could have been so silly, but I feel +much better now. Thank you.” + +“Did Mark tell you about the money?” Michael asked, wondering whether +he had not been slightly carried away by his enthusiasm. Was it +possible that Warden----? No, surely it was absurd. Was all his +journey to Colchester to result only in clearing everybody except his +own friend? + +“No.” Edna answered his last question. “Godfrey hinted something to +me. I suppose Nick told him. Mark hasn’t said anything, and I didn’t +like to ask him. He doesn’t believe in mixing up women and business, +you know. And, anyway, he’s been in a funny mood lately, jumpy and +not like himself. I shouldn’t wonder if that had got on my nerves a +bit, and made me see bogies. I’m all right now. But, Dr. Prendergast, +if you know and Godfrey knows, it can’t be much of a secret, can +it? I wish you’d tell me just what it is that’s gone wrong with the +business. I swear I won’t say a word to a soul--even to Mark--if you +think I’d better not. But it’s pretty awful, not knowing.” + +More to save himself from awkward questions than from any other +reason, Michael told her. She listened attentively, with her chin +on her hands, putting occasionally a question whose appositeness +surprised him. But her final reception of the story astonished him +still more. + +“When did Mark tell you all this?” she asked. Provided with some +particulars of the discussion in the Old Malting House, she leaned +back with a triumphant smile. + +“Then it _was_ Mr. Wilson!” she said. “I knew I was right!” + +“Who?” + +“Why, your friend! I told Mark so; but he wouldn’t believe me. Mark +never remembers names, but he told me a long time ago about your +wonderful Scotland Yard friend called Wilson; and when he said you’d +a friend called Wilson staying with you, I thought at once it must +be the same. Oh, Dr. Prendergast, how perfectly marvellous! And is +he going to find out all about everything? Oh, very well,” seeing +Michael’s alarmed face. “If it’s a secret I won’t tell any one. +Really, I won’t. But you shouldn’t have such a nice innocent face, +you know?” + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + +“There’s the drive,” said Edna. “You’ll stay to dinner, won’t you? +Oh, _please_--I can’t face them alone!” And Michael, feeling he might +as well see the thing through, agreed to stay, though he was not +quite sure of his own wisdom. + +The car moved slowly up the long, curving drive, which at points was +singularly narrow for the entrance to a “gentleman’s residence” of +any size. + +“More like a country lane than a drive,” Michael commented. “Isn’t +it rather dangerous?” he asked, as they swung suddenly round a +completely blind corner which was not rendered any the safer for +having a stretch of wider road leading up to it, and a broad expanse +of parkland almost immediately beyond. He did not feel that the shape +of the bend was compensated for by the trails of honeysuckle which +brushed his shoulders on the one side, a high fence forming the other. + +“Oh, frightfully, I should think,” Edna said. “But it’s always been +the same, and nobody will have it altered. They cut back the hedge +every now and then. But it isn’t so dangerous as you think. Every one +hereabouts knows it, and coming from the village they always hoot and +wait to see if anything’s coming.” + +“But coming from the Grange? Or a stranger?” + +“Cars from the Grange have the right of way. Anyway, nobody runs +straight through except Godfrey, and every one knows his horn. And +strangers oughtn’t to dash up other people’s drives at any pace they +like. Serve them right if they do get smashed,” said Edna, with such +surprising callousness as Michael could only excuse by assuming she +had grown up from birth with the death-trap. “Do you like the park?” + +“It’s in awfully good order,” Michael said appreciatively. “It isn’t +often one sees timber as well kept in these degenerate days.” + +“Oh, that’s Tulumba,” Edna said. “Rubber, I mean. You know Father +and Godfrey both got disgustingly rich on rubber plantations. So +Godfrey can afford to have the place properly kept up. It wasn’t +like that when I first remember it; it was full of dead wood, and +half the trees were falling down. But Father had all the dead stuff +cleared away, and Godfrey’s planted a lot, and brought the deer back. +We couldn’t do it if we weren’t bloodsucking capitalists. But it’s +rather nice, isn’t it?” + +“You didn’t have to plough the park up in the war?” + +“No, Father was on the County Agricultural Committee,” Edna explained +simply. “There’s the house. Isn’t it hideous?” + +On the whole, Michael thought, it was. In origin it was probably +Elizabethan, or earlier, and a mellow group of red brick stables set +at one side seemed to belong to the earliest period. But the large +square Queen Anne block immediately to their left did not match them +at all; and worse still was an enormous Early Victorian atrocity in +yellowish-grey, with bands of Palladian ornament, which stood beside +the Queen Anne block, and just succeeded in overtopping it with an +obvious and ludicrous effort. It was as if one’s grandmother had +decided to stand permanently on tiptoe. Beyond that again came an +indifferent restoration of something seventeenth-century in type; and +a water tower or similar object of late nineteenth-century origin +towered above everything else in the extreme left-hand corner. As +the car swept across the front of the house preparatory to turning +into the stable-yard, Michael saw, across a couple of tennis-courts, +a flagged and flowered terrace on which half a dozen people were +distributed. + +“Wallace hasn’t come back, anyway,” Edna said. “That’s one good +thing. Come along and I’ll introduce you.” + +“Who are all those people?” Michael asked, as they neared the +terrace, having left the car to return to Colchester. + +“Oh, nobody in particular. That’s Godfrey--my brother--in the +deck-chair, and the one walking up and down behind him is Brian +Mackenzie, the Zambesi man. That’s Tom Shane leaning up against the +sundial, and the one sitting on the steps is Leslie Buckton. The +woman by him is Dora Schlesinger, and the other’s Tony Druce. Olga +Felling ought to be somewhere about, but I don’t see her. I wonder +where Sylvia is?” + +As soon as she had finished her introductions, Edna repeated the +last question, while Michael surveyed the group for possible +murderers. As an honest man, he was forced to admit that he met with +little success. Nobody’s face expressed much but boredom and slight +ill-temper, though Mackenzie favoured him with a glance of fierce +suspicion. Except for the two women, who belonged to an angular, +high-coloured type which he strongly disliked, the smooth face of +Shane the barrister impressed Michael most unfavourably. Leslie +Buckton he put down as a pink-faced goose. But Wilson, he remembered, +had contemptuously dismissed any idea of Shane’s criminality. This +was very annoying. + +At Edna’s question Godfrey Loring threw up his hands in mock despair. + +“My dear Edna--must you join the gang? Tom and Brian have been asking +me that question in alternate five minutes for the last two hours.” +The K.C. gave an angry shrug; but Mackenzie took no notice. “I did +think you would have spared me. Couldn’t Wallace tell you?--or what +have you done with him?” + +“Don’t be silly, Godfrey. I only asked where she was.” + +“I do not know. Cross my heart, I do not know. She disappeared after +that ridiculous ceremony in the town--don’t you want to hear about +it, by the way?” + +“No. I met Nick.” + +“Well, anyway, she departed, and I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing +her since. Gone to hold Lockwood’s hand, most likely. Sylvia always +has a tenderness for the old and decrepit. Were you nice to Wallace?” + +“I don’t know. He’s gone to town,” Edna said in an indifferent tone. + +“Damn quick work,” said the Squire coarsely. “I will say that for +Wallace, he doesn’t waste time. One woman for breakfast, another for +lunch, and just in time to get a third for dinner. It’s a shame to +leave you to forage for yourself, though”--with a glance at Michael. + +“Shut up,” said Edna. + +“Don’t get shirty, my child. I tried to find your young man for +you, but he wasn’t to be seen. Nick was representing the firm’s +sorrow--only he left his black band at home. Try consoling one of +these chaps, if you’re hard up. Dora and Tony have been at it ever +since tea without getting a rise.” + +“She won’t have long to try,” either Dora or Tony remarked without +heat, as Edna turned crossly back to Michael. “There _is_ Sylvia.” + +A perceptible electric movement ran through the little group; and +all, Michael included, swung round to see Sylvia’s slim figure +turning the corners of the terrace. She was paler than on the +previous day, and there was a definite furrow of anxiety or fear +between her brows. Obviously she was looking for some one; and +Michael noticed with distinct satisfaction that she favoured him with +a special stare of hostility before her eyes finally came to rest on +the Squire. There was some sort of appeal or command in her glance, +to which Godfrey Loring responded with a grunt and a wriggle, which +was probably his limit of graciousness; but she delayed long enough +to fling crumbs to the hungry trio. + +“Hullo, everybody!” she said. “Isn’t it sinfully hot? Leslie, have +you got a fag? You were quite right to keep out of that court. It’s a +blessing for me Brian was brought up in the tropics, and kept cool. +He was about the only cool thing in the room. Why didn’t you come, +Tom? You could have asked Dr. Evershed leading questions--isn’t that +what you call them?--and made life a little more interesting for all +the poor dears who’d put on their Sunday-best to come. Oh, God! I’ll +never go to another inquest, not even if it’s my own. Godfrey, I +want to talk to you. Come indoors. No, lazy pig, I won’t stay here. +It’s too hot, and I want a drink. Come on.” + +Firmly declining all the rather feeble efforts made to keep her +on the terrace, she led the way indoors, whither Godfrey Loring +eventually followed her, with steps lighter than his bulk would have +led one to expect. The group on the terrace stood limply still for a +moment after they had gone. + +“Oh, _come_ on!” one of the women remarked at last in a sudden shrill +voice. “What’s the _use_ of standing about? Who’ll play tennis?” + +“Go on, Tom,” said Leslie Buckton. “It’ll keep your figure slim.” + +“No, thank you,” said Shane. “Come down and look at the frogs,” to +Edna, who merely shook her head. + +“I must say,” the woman who had spoken complained to the world at +large, “you are a nice _cheerful_ set.” + +This was also Michael’s feeling when, after nearly an hour of almost +pointless conversation, he was sent in Buckton’s charge to wash +his hands for dinner. If these were murderers, he felt they had +singularly little pleasure in their deed. So far from being a giddy +haunt of vice, Loring Grange appeared at the moment to be nearly the +most boring place on earth. His impression was deepened when they met +again over listless cocktails, and he observed how each of the three +men kept his eyes unashamedly glued to the door. As the gong went, +Godfrey Loring, wearing a triumphant grin, looked in. + +“To save everybody trouble,” he observed, “may I just announce that +Sylvia’s not coming to dinner?” + +“Fagged out?” inquired Buckton solicitously. He, at least, appeared +to have the merit of bearing his infatuation lightly; at least, he +put his arm round the woman called Olga, with a very fair attempt at +friendliness. + +“Fed up, I should call it,” his host responded brutally. “She +seems to have had enough of the lot of you. Anyway, she’s gone +off--skipped--and isn’t coming back to-night, or for some time. So +sorry for you all. Another cocktail, doctor? No? Well, you can wait +for me to have one.” He drank it off. “Shall we go in and drown +Sylvia’s memory? Champagne, I think? Or would you prefer Australian +Burgundy?” + +They went into the dining-room, there to partake of a longer and +drearier meal than Michael would have believed possible. There was +plenty to eat and drink, and of excellent quality, and if he had +only wanted to get drunk, he had plenty of opportunity. As he did +not, he could only listen to Godfrey Loring, who appeared to be in +excellent spirits, making inferior jokes against all the company +impartially, most of them not in what Michael considered good taste. +As his own drink mounted to his head, he began to wonder fiercely how +Mark Warden could endure to leave his fiancée a day longer in that +atmosphere--though Edna, he noticed with regret, appeared to object +to it much less than he did. + +Towards the end of the meal, the K.C., who had been firmly resisting +the determined attempts of both Dora and Tony to annex him, +announced, with a carefully detached air, that he regretted that +business would call him to London early next morning. + +Loring laughed heartily, and flicked some bread at him. “Mind you +call on Wallace,” he said. “Perhaps he’ll go shares with you. Well, +Brian, what about you? Where are you thinking of going? Buluwayo?” + +Mackenzie clenched a lean fist but said nothing. + +“Falling like autumn leaves,” the Squire said. “Well, doctor, you and +I’ll have to console ourselves. How about a game of billiards? Oh, +come, you’re not going after Sylvia too? A hundred up!” But this, +Michael thought, was really more than chivalry required, though he +was surprised to hear Edna second her brother’s invitation. Firmly he +said he must go. + +“I’ll drive you down to the town, if you like. I’m going that way,” +Mackenzie offered. It was almost the first time he had spoken, and +Michael, after a little hesitation, accepted. Perhaps Mackenzie would +provide some information. + +The intervening time he spent in detaching himself from his host and +wandering with Edna in the hot, dark garden. As unobtrusively as he +could, he tried to find out where all the house-party had spent the +fatal hours of Friday week; but he got little or no satisfaction. +As far as Edna knew, they had all been at the dance. But Michael +gathered that from midnight onwards nobody had been very clear +where anybody else was, and that, though alibis might possibly be +forthcoming, they would have to be sought in detail. + +“They’re _all_ suspects, in fact,” he said to himself; “and not one +more than the other. Where’s Mrs. Meston gone, do you know?” he asked. + +“Not an idea,” Edna said, with indifference. “Godfrey knows, but he +likes to keep things to himself if it annoys people. She’ll come +back some time, I suppose. There’s Brian--if you really must go.” + +As they came back, they passed by the Squire’s study-window, and saw +the owner standing by his telephone, asking it in a rather thick +voice for Colonel Lockwood. “Does he want to have the house raided?” +Michael wondered. “I should think it ought to be.” From which it will +be observed that Dr. Prendergast was prejudiced. + +“Now,” he thought, “for Mackenzie.” + +But if he had anticipated any remarkable revelations on the drive, +he was disappointed. Mackenzie swore a great deal, mostly beneath +his breath, and in general appeared so near a breakdown of some sort +as to enlist Michael’s professional sympathy in spite of himself; +but immediately, it seemed, he wanted no more than physical relief +for his feelings, and all he provided for his passenger was a very +lively speculation on whether he would arrive at his destination +with a broken neck. However, there was no accident; and soon after +ten o’clock Michael made his way up to his sitting-room at the inn, +armed with a certain amount of not very useful information and +undifferentiated suspicion enough to hang an army. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + +Wilson, for his part, had not spent an idle evening. After the +extraordinarily inopportune meeting with Mr. Brandreth, he had +decided to postpone his search of the tow-path, on which, in any +case, there seemed to be too many miscellaneous footprints for +accurate evidence to be obtainable. Machin, the tramp, was the person +he really wanted to see; but Machin was not likely to be available, +for a little while at any rate. At the moment, the most fruitful +possibility appeared to be to test some of the conjectures he had +formed at the bridge. + +The first step was to find Colonel Lockwood, report his discoveries, +and borrow the boots which Meston had been wearing at his death. The +examination of the latter was annoyingly inconclusive. They were the +right size, and fitted fairly closely, but not quite accurately, +to the sketch which Wilson had made. Unlike the prints usually +offered to the conventional sleuth, these had no nails, patches, or +protectors obligingly fitted to the soles. The only thing was to try +a borrowed boot on the spot. + +Wilson then drew the scrap of green silk and the shred of tweed +from his pocket, and asked the Colonel if he could identify either +of them. The tweed produced no reaction; indeed, Wilson had hardly +expected any. It might have come from almost anywhere, though it +had definitely not come from William Meston’s suit, which was of +the “respectable black” suggested by his calling. But when he saw +the green silk, the good Colonel obviously suffered from a pang of +recognition. He did not want to “put a name to it,” and endeavoured +for some time to cloak himself in generalities; but Wilson, if +patient, was ruthless, and in time forced the Colonel to disclose his +practical certainty that it had come from an evening dress of Sylvia +Meston’s. + +Something, if not much, was gained at all events, if this were true. +Some time within the last ten days, and probably near about the time +at which her husband died, Sylvia Meston had spent a considerable +time in the company of a man in that somewhat unattractive rendezvous +up-stream. It now became of paramount importance to ascertain, if +possible, who the man was. Making sure that, on this occasion at any +rate, Brandreth was not hovering about his starting-point, Wilson set +off to walk once more to the old bridge. + +Within a couple of hours he was back again, and any one who knew him +well would have been able to see that he was puzzled rather than +satisfied. In the first place, Sylvia’s companion was definitely not +her husband, unless the latter had on a different pair of boots. +The prints resembled the borrowed boot, but they were not the same. +Wilson made a note to investigate Meston’s belongings for a spare +pair of boots; but realised that even if he found such a pair, and +they fitted the marks, it would tell him very little about the crime. +For obviously, if Meston had kept tryst wearing a different pair of +boots, he must have returned alive to his hotel in order to change +them. + +It looked, on the whole, as though there had been another man +present. But, if so, Wilson had no present means of identifying +him--nor of saying whether the watcher by the knot-hole was or was +not Meston. The tow-path, as he expected, told him nothing; there +were trampled footprints of many kinds, but none visibly belonging +either to Meston or to the two who had crossed the bridge. The only +new information which he had secured was that there were certainly +traces of not one, but two, cars on the little-used road which +crossed the bridge, and that all the indications pointed to their +having both been present on the same occasion--which might or might +not be the night of the murder. The second car had come from the +opposite direction, and had parked on the right bank, but on the +far side of the road, which was why he had not seen its tracks at +first, and had remained parked for quite as long as the other. From +the parking place tracks of the man in size ten shoes led in various +directions, as though he had been walking up and down; and eventually +brought him to the place where they had first been observed, by +the tracks of the second car. Wilson now thought that only one +passenger--the woman--had been in the second car, that the man had +joined her, and they had walked into the summerhouse together. +Eventually both cars had gone away in the direction from which they +had severally come. The woman had gone first, for the man’s footsteps +were visible treading in the tracks of the woman’s car as it turned +to go away; but, of course, it was quite uncertain by how long she +had preceded him, and whether either or both had been there on the +fatal night or at a different time. Nor could he find where either of +the cars had gone after leaving the boathouse. Both tracks vanished +completely in a little while--the woman’s at the cross-roads where +the roads from Steeple Tollesbury and the Grange met it, and the +other on a stretch of hard road by Sir Felix Lewis’s drive. Unless +Mr. Jerry Machin had some information to give, Wilson very much +feared that he had exhausted the clues at that spot. + +As he returned to the hotel, thoughts of supper in his mind, he met +Michael’s _bête noire_, Mr. Strake, at the tap-room entrance; and +bethought himself that he had meant to have a word with him. Wilson +had a short and harsh way with outsiders of his own profession, and +Mr. Strake found himself speedily disclosing what information he had +in his possession without the _quid pro quo_ which he had obviously +intended to extract. There was not very much of it, but what there +was, was significant enough. He was an “old friend” of Nicholas +Hanborough’s, who had been “very kind” to him more than once--Wilson +was able, without much difficulty, to guess the nature of the +kindness. He had been employed by Mr. Hanborough, nominally to look +into the firm’s position, but in reality to spy on William Meston; +and he was under strict orders to bring all he got straight to Mr. +Hanborough himself. But the results of his spying had been remarkably +meagre. He, like Inspector Bille, had found that Meston had shown a +singular fondness for the firm’s books during the past few weeks, and +had once or twice caught him talking to racing men; but that was all. +He had begun to wonder whether there was anything to be found out, +and for what, exactly, he was being paid. + +Then, when Meston disappeared from Colchester, he had pursued his +investigations in that town; and had then discovered, as he had +already begun to suspect, that whatever Meston had been doing, he +could not have been doing it without the connivance of the senior +partner--in fact, that his own employer had been equally guilty. +Hanborough had kept his own traces pretty well covered; but after +patient investigation, Strake had at last succeeded in nosing them +out. At this point he confessed, with an entire absence of shame, +he had been rather at a loss what to do, whether to go back to +Hanborough and demand blackmail, or to find somebody else who would +be willing to pay him more highly for information against both +partners. Eventually he tossed for it, and decided to go to Mark +Warden--who had promptly hunted him off with a flea in his ear. Now +he was open to an offer of any sort. + +But, as already stated, he was forced to part with his information +without any compensation, Wilson dragging from him piece by piece +all the evidence he had against Hanborough, which was certainly +enough to put the man in a very dubious light. After he had found +out all he could on this point, Wilson began to fish for anything +which might connect Hanborough more definitely with Meston’s murder. +Here, however, he drew blank. Strake professed absolute ignorance +of any question propounded to him; yet there was a look in his eye +which made Wilson absolutely certain that he knew something which +bore directly on the events of that fatal night, and he was about to +employ more drastic measures, when he saw Brandreth, complete with +smile and walking-stick, approaching him down the street. + +Annoyed as much at being caught talking to the inquiry agent as +by the abrupt termination of his interview, Wilson went indoors, +and over his solitary supper began tabulating the result of his +investigations. + +He had to confess that they were not very exciting. Of the five +questions which he propounded to himself--how, when, where, by whom, +and with what motive had Meston been killed--only the first could be +answered with any degree of certainty. Meston had been hanged--but +when? and where? The boathouse up-river seemed the most probable +place, but it could not be said to be in any way proved. Nothing +had been found by the boathouse, except the tree, which suggested +violent death, and the marks on the tree might easily have been +caused by climbing boys. When? Any time from 10.30 p.m. onwards. +This was no help to an investigator. And as to the murderer, and the +motive, Wilson felt himself as much at a loss as when he had talked +to Michael in the morning. He could not even yet choose between +his two motives--and as to the men----! The most likely person was +the man who, if his conjectures were true, had talked to Sylvia +in the boathouse, but who was he? If he turned out to be Nicholas +Hanborough, the two lines of suspicion would blend admirably; but +was he likely to? Well, that could perhaps be ascertained. He was +approximately the right height, at all events. + +Wilson sent for the landlord, and endeavoured to get some light on +Sylvia’s relations with Hanborough, but without any useful result. +If Hanborough admired the siren, he kept it closely to himself; and +she had never shown any predilection for him. He was married, yes, to +a quiet little woman who didn’t go about much. They had no children. +Oh yes, Mr. Hanborough liked the girls as well as any other man, and +was a very pleasant-spoken gentleman; but nothing special to nobody, +as you might say. + +“If you’ve got the key of Meston’s room, Wason,” Wilson closed the +conversation, “I wish you’d let me borrow it. I’d like to have a +look round.” He had Colonel Lockwood’s authorisation ready in his +pocket, in case it proved necessary; but Wason seemed to think such +innocent curiosity the most natural thing in the world, and without +any protest departed to fetch the key. Wilson was still engaged on +the subsequent investigation when Michael reappeared, full of sound +and fury. + +“What are you doing?” he asked, when he had resigned himself to the +realisation that Wilson was not at present interested in gossip about +the Grange. + +“Trying to fix, if possible, the time when Meston left the inn to go +to his death,” was the reply. “I started like this. The probability +is that he left it before any of you were awake on Saturday morning. +It isn’t certain; but if he’d gone away in broad daylight some one +would have been almost sure to see him. Also, it seems probable that +he was intending to leave about then.” + +“Probable?” said Michael. “I thought it was certain. Wason told me +he’d packed all his things ready.” + +“Well, yes. I think we may take it he intended to leave. I found his +portmanteau in his cupboard--very methodically packed, poor fellow, +not as if he was merely going off for a night or two--and labelled in +the handwriting you can see in the visitors’ book, ‘To be kept till +called for.’” + +“Well, then----?” + +“But it’s not by any means certain that he intended to leave in the +middle of the night. His trunk wasn’t locked. I thought at first he’d +packed everything, and forgotten to lock it; but on examining the +chambermaid, I found that when she came in the following morning she +found his pyjamas, sponge, etc., lying about the room. She left them +alone that day; but the next day collected them and put them in the +trunk. So he hadn’t finished packing when he went.” + +“Where was he going?” Michael wondered. + +“I’ve no idea. And as nobody here knew he was going till he’d gone, +we shan’t find out from that source. + +“There’s another point, though. With his portmanteau I found his +hat, stick, and overcoat. That is to say, when he went away, he +went, apparently, without some obvious portions of his attire. Of +course, he may have had a second hat. But, unless he had, it appears +that either he went out in a hurry, intending to return, or that he +departed for good--at least for some time--bareheaded and without a +coat, which seems out of character, or----” + +“Or that he went out and drowned himself,” said Michael. “He wouldn’t +need a hat for that.” + +“Yes. Suicide would fit the case admirably. But you and I know he +didn’t commit suicide. So that won’t do.” + +“When did the things turn up?” + +“The day after his departure. The chambermaid found them, and shoved +them into the cupboard.” + +“Any other indications?” + +“Nary a one. Either he, or the chambermaid, suffers from excessive +tidiness. If more were like them, there would be more undiscovered +crime in the world.” + +Michael sighed. “Nothing seems to take us anywhere. He makes all +preparations for suicide, it would seem, and then doesn’t commit it. +Hanborough appears as a nice suspect for a murder--and he turns out +to have been safely out of the way. Sylvia Meston meets a suspicious +sounding man at the old ferry, and you don’t know who it is, or +whether Meston was there at all. And one knows just nothing of +anybody else. What are we to do?” + +“Plod on,” Wilson said. “I’ve been trying to establish, if I can, the +time at which he left the inn. The probability is, as I say, that it +was between 10.30 when you saw him go up to bed, and, say, seven the +next morning. It was well after 10.30, because his bed had been slept +in.” + +“Unless he tumbled it himself.” + +“Unless he did, of course. We could probably have established that, +if we’d been on the spot at the time. As it is, we shall have to +leave it open. There’s another point, however. There’s a cottage +in fairly full view, across the river, beyond the tow-path; and +the occupier, a cowman called Billings, happened to be up, and has +told everybody that he could see Meston’s light on till well past +one o’clock. I haven’t questioned him yet; but I can do so in the +morning, if it seems worth while. Unfortunately, even that doesn’t +tell us how late he was here, for the chambermaid apparently forgot +to fill his lamp the day before, and found it burnt out in the +morning. And she can’t give me any idea how much oil there would have +been in it the previous evening. There were candles in the room, both +partly burnt. So whether he went out and left his lamp burning, or +whether the oil failed while he was there, and he completed whatever +he was doing by candlelight, I’m afraid we can only guess.” + +“I should think we’re likely to have our fill of guessing, by the +time we’ve finished,” Michael remarked. “What about Kershaw?” + +He produced the result of his researches into the doctor’s career. +Wilson shook his head. “There’s really nothing in that, you know. +There may be a dozen reasons for the gap between 1910 and 1913; +and, though this doesn’t on the face of it seem a good enough job +for a man of his qualifications, there may be some war injury to +account for it. From the look I had at him to-day, I shouldn’t put +shell-shock out of the question.” + +“Shell-shock needn’t make him hit that poor fellow on the head,” +Michael said. + +“_If_ he did. Oh, I quite agree his behaviour calls for some +explanation. But I don’t think we shall get it to-night. Suppose we +try bed, for a change?” + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + +“Mr. Brandreth, sir,” the maid announced, ushering in a lawyer +perceptibly less rosy and debonair than he had been the previous day. + +“Here’s a pretty kettle of fish,” he said, taking a letter from his +pocket and handing it to Wilson. “This has just reached me by hand, +from the Grange.” Wilson took it and read it twice through, gravely +and carefully. “Have a look, Michael,” he said. + +The letter was hastily scrawled and blotted on a large sheet of +Loring-crested paper: + + “DEAR NED,”--it ran--“It seems to me I’ve been a damned fool + to get into such a racket over William’s death. Of course, now + I’ve thought it over, it’s quite clear that it can’t have been + anything but suicide. I don’t know why you ever let me go on + talking rubbish about somebody having killed him--particularly + in front of Mr. Wilson--unless you didn’t want to tell me + point-blank that I’d driven him to do it. You can say that or + anything else you like--I’m not a bit proud of myself over this + business altogether, and I’d eat dirt if it would do anybody any + good. As it is, I think the best thing I can do is to clear out, + so I’m going--no address, no flowers, and apologies for troubling + you. Will you do me one last service, and tell Mr. Wilson I’ve + been a fool, and I’m sorry I bothered him? Of course it was + suicide, tell him. He seemed a decent fellow, and perhaps he’ll + understand, and stop Lockwood kicking up a fuss. Anyway, I leave + it to you. I’m sorry to be a plague. + + “SYLVIA.” + +“Now what do you think of that?” said the lawyer. “Isn’t that just +like a woman?” + +“It seems to me just like Mrs. Meston, if I may say so,” said Wilson. +“The authentic note.” + +“Makes me look a fool,” said the lawyer testily. “First she makes +a great fuss about her husband’s being murdered, and gives me no +peace till I agree to go and consult you. Then she butts into the +consultation without being asked, and drags you aside downstairs and +won’t tell me what she’s said. And now she calmly asks me to call the +whole thing off, and just remarks that she’s going away----” + +“She’s gone,” Michael said. “She went last night. I told you.” + +“Yes, but I didn’t grasp that she’d gone for ever,” Wilson said. + +“Nor did I. The Squire didn’t say so. But she must have.” + +“Then why on earth couldn’t she have written to me last night?” the +lawyer demanded. + +“Surely,” said Wilson, “the explanation’s obvious. She did not want +to give you an opportunity of objecting.” + +“Well, anyway, there it is. What do you make of it?” + +“That was the question I was going to put to you. What do _you_ make +of it?” + +“I?” The lawyer stopped and gazed at him. “Oh, I don’t make anything. +I suppose she means what she says----” + +“Surely a dangerous assumption?” + +“What do you mean?” + +“It occurs to me that Mrs. Meston may have decided that for reasons +of her own it now suits her better to regard her husband as _not_ +having been murdered. I suspect the lady’s ideas of truth are, shall +we say, a trifle pragmatic.” + +“What suits her’s the truth, you mean. Oh, I dare say. All women are +like that, more or less.” + +“And Mrs. Meston, I should say, decidedly more.” + +“Oh, have it your own way. But what the devil is one to believe?” + +“In this matter, I should say, nothing whatever,” Wilson said. “Mrs. +Meston, as a witness, cancels out. She has voted both ways. Are you +going to take that letter to Colonel Lockwood, by the way?” + +“I don’t know.” The lawyer looked up at him slyly. “Should you think +it would have a good effect?” + +“My dear sir,” Wilson said in his best manner, “Colonel Lockwood is a +public servant. I hope--I think he will accord to that letter exactly +the weight it deserves.” + +“It’s open to everybody to hope, of course,” Brandreth said. + +“Whether,” Wilson continued, “you choose to take the responsibility +of holding back evidence from him is, of course, your own +affair--though I may remind you that the matter is not now entirely +in your keeping. By the way”--as Brandreth turned to go--“you didn’t +by any chance mention to Mrs. Meston our meeting yesterday afternoon, +did you?” + +“I told her I’d seen you up-stream, of course,” Brandreth said +innocently. “She was naturally anxious to hear how her investigation +was getting on.” + +“You will, I think, make my position somewhat difficult if you +continue to dog my steps and publish bulletins of progress,” said +Wilson. + +“Dear, dear, I’m so sorry,” said the lawyer impenitently. “I didn’t +know it was private--nor that police-officers were so sensitive to +harmless gossip. I didn’t tell Sylvia you found her frock in the +boathouse, though; I didn’t know that till afterwards.” And before +Michael’s gasp of astonishment could translate itself into words, he +was gone. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + +“Colonel Lockwood,” said Wilson after lunch, “has just telephoned +in a state of considerable agitation. It appears that his men have +rounded up Mr. Jerry Machin, and he wants me to come and hear what +the young man’s got to say. Care to come along too?” + +“Will Brandreth be there, I wonder?” Michael mused. + +“Oh, probably,” said Wilson in a resigned tone. “Yes, I think you’re +correct, and it was Lockwood that passed on that bit of information +about the green frock--possibly without knowing that he’d done so. +There ought to be a major crime in every county at least once in five +years--to keep the police up to elementary standards of caution.” + +“And Brandreth told Mrs. Meston to run away.” + +“She certainly ran away,” Wilson admitted. “That Brandreth put her +up to it I’m not so sure. However, we may be wiser when we’ve got +Machin’s story.” + +They betook themselves to Lockwood’s house, where, in a room guarded +by a stolid police-sergeant, they found a terribly agitated Lockwood +and a calm tramp, who appeared quite unmoved by the Colonel’s +perturbation. + +“This is Jerry Machin,” the Colonel began abruptly. “Tell these +gentlemen what you were telling me just now.” + +“Well,” said Jerry Machin, spreading himself completely at his ease +and speaking in an unusually educated voice, “it was like this. +I’ve been taking a shakedown lately, back of Sir Felix Lewis’s +boathouse--I needn’t tell _you_ whereabouts, sir,” he added to +Wilson, “because I seem to recollect it was you along with Jim +Collins that smoked me out yesterday afternoon. Well, anyway, there I +was----” + +“Trespassing,” interrupted the Colonel sourly. Jerry Machin smiled at +him. + +“Wonderful how good comes out of evil, Colonel, isn’t it?” he +said. “If I hadn’t been setting the law at defiance, in a manner +of speaking, I’d not have been able to tell you what you want to +know--if you _do_ want to know it.” And, indeed, the Colonel did not +look as though the information had been welcome. “Well, as I was +saying, I had a shakedown----” + +“Inside or outside the boathouse?” Wilson asked. + +“Outside, sir. The weather’s good, and I’ve no love for a roof over +my head at the best of times. Anyway, there I was, and--it was the +night Mr. Meston left Sam Wason’s place--I’d had a nap, and I woke up +sudden, and, being hot, I thought I’d take a stroll by the river. I’d +only just got to the tow-path when I heard a car coming up the road +to the old bridge. I was just wondering who it was, for there isn’t +much traffic on that road late at night, when the car stopped----” + +“Where?” Wilson interrupted. + +“Close by the bridge, on the far side of the road.” Wilson nodded, as +if satisfied. “I saw the headlights. Then whoever the car belonged +to turned them out and began walking up and down the road. It was a +still night, and I could hear him plain as plain.” + +“But you couldn’t see him, I suppose?” + +“No. ’Twas too dark. Leastways, he was in the trees, and I didn’t +catch a sight of him for some time. But after a bit--quarter of an +hour, it may have been--he came to the bridge and walked right out +into the middle of it, and I could see his shape plain as plain +against the bend of the river. Then I said to myself, I know that +walk; and when he turned to go back I was quite certain.” + +“And it was----?” + +“Mr. John, sir.” + +“John Loring,” the Colonel supplemented unhappily. Michael could not +suppress a gasp. + +“But I thought Mr. John Loring was in China,” Wilson said. + +“So did I, sir; and if I hadn’t known him so well I couldn’t have +believed my eyes. But I’ve known Lorings, father and sons, these +twenty years; and I’ll take my oath it was Mr. John. Besides, I saw +him after, closer to, as I’ve been telling the Colonel, and I’ve no +doubt in my own mind it was Mr. John.” + +“Very well. Go on. What did you do then?” + +“Just waited, sir, to see what was going to happen. It wasn’t above +five minutes after I’d seen Mr. John, sir, there was the sound of +another car along the road, the other side of the bridge, and Mr. +John went along to meet it. It crossed the bridge, and stopped on my +side of the road--the other side from Mr. John’s--and Mr. John helped +a lady to get out of it. I didn’t particularly want to be seen, so +I moved off behind the old boathouse, and then I heard them go into +it and shut the door. Well, I mooched a bit round, to see if they +were coming out. They didn’t come, and I felt more than a bit curious +to see who it was Mr. John was meeting so private at that time of +night.” + +“What time was it?” Wilson asked. + +“Round about midnight, sir,” Machin said. “I couldn’t speak to the +minutes, not carrying a timepiece, but it was there or thereabouts. +Well, after I’d listened awhile, I remembered seeing a knot-hole +in the back of the house, and I thought I might get a peep in that +way. So I crept up very quietly, and put my face to it--but I didn’t +see so much as a glimpse. It was all dark inside there, barring Mr. +John’s cigarette, and I couldn’t see who it was with him.” + +“Couldn’t you hear?” + +“I could hear, right enough; but there wasn’t anything much _to_ +hear. Except that it was Mr. John’s young lady, and he’d brought her +out there to tell her so, I couldn’t hear a word. And after I’d been +looking for a bit, my foot slipped and I caught on a nail, and made a +bit of a noise. So I skipped off into the woods as quiet as a mouse.” + +“Why?” + +“Ask the Colonel, sir.” Jerry Machin grinned. “You’ve known the +Lorings pretty near as long as I have, Colonel. I put it to you, if +one of them found you’d been listening to his sweethearting, would +you stay around to hear what he thought about it?” + +“And is that all you saw?” + +“No, sir. I came back again, maybe an hour and a half later.” + +“What had you been doing meanwhile?” + +“Just about in the woods, sir. I’d a bit of business to attend to,” +said Jerry, with an expression which left no doubt what the “bit of +business” was. “Then I came back to see if the coast was clear, and +just as I got near the bridge I heard a car starting, and just got +there in time to see the second car--the lady’s--going away through +the trees. I wondered whether Mr. John had gone too, and in case +he hadn’t, I came up quietly. And it was my salvation I did so, +sir; because as soon as I got close I could see Mr. John down by +the waterside lighting a cigarette. The match-flame showed him up +clear--I wasn’t more than a dozen feet away--and if I ever saw hell +it was in Mr. John’s face then. It was just black with rage, and he’d +got his teeth set--you know the way he has, Colonel--and if I’d got +in his way then it wouldn’t have been long before I’d ’a’ been in the +river with a cracked skull. So I dropped into the grass and lay low; +and Mr. John, he paced up and down for a bit, muttering to himself. +But then he suddenly got into his car and made off--the same way he’d +come--without his lights, too, for all it was so black as my hat. And +that’s the last I saw of him.” + +“That is to say,” Wilson said, “you saw Mr. Loring first at about +midnight. The lady came twenty minutes or so afterwards, and went +away--when?” + +“Some time after one, I should guess. Near as much as the half.” + +“And Mr. Loring went away--how soon after her?” + +“Five to ten minutes. Not more.” + +“You didn’t see any one else there all the time?” + +“Not a soul. And there wasn’t any one after Mr. John left. I looked +all round before I went to bed again.” + +“Could any one have been there while you were watching? Could you +tell?” + +“Not within a hundred yards, sir,” Machin replied positively. “I +should have heard--and probably farther.” + +“And you don’t know who the lady was?” + +“Not if you say _know_, sir. Of course,” with a leer, “if you say +_guess_, I could maybe put a name to her--and so could the Colonel +for that matter. But I didn’t see her to swear to.” + +“Nor hear her voice?” + +“Not above a whisper, sir.” + +“I see. Well, I think that’s all I want out of him, Colonel. I +suppose you’ll keep him somewhere where he can be got at?” + +“Bullock will see to that,” the Colonel replied, with unnecessary +viciousness. + +“Good! Wait a minute, though. I want a thread from your coat, +Machin.” Wilson drew a small pair of tweezers from his pocket, and +with a firm pull extracted from the tramp’s ragged coat a bit of +grey tweed. Then he indicated dismissal, and Jerry Machin, with an +impenitent smile to the world at large, disappeared in the firm +charge of the police-sergeant. + +“Well?” said Wilson to the Colonel. + +“This is a frightful thing,” the latter groaned. + +“Is that man reliable, should you say?” + +“I’m afraid so.” + +“We can test him on one point, at all events.” From an envelope in +his pocket Wilson drew the grey thread he had taken from the old +boathouse, laid it on the table beside Jerry Machin’s specimen, and +compared the two through a lens. “That’s that,” he said. “They’re the +same piece of stuff. That means that our friend did look through the +knot-hole of the boathouse, and did see Mrs. Meston trysting with her +lover from China. I gather, Colonel, from miscellaneous gossip, that +that affair, while it was on, was pretty serious?” + +The Colonel nodded unhappily. “Sylvia has never had one anything like +so serious. And John Loring was very hard hit.” + +“So that, if he suddenly returned from China, there might have been +an--explosive situation?” + +“There might.” + +“And what would you expect Mr. John Loring to do under the +circumstances?” + +The Colonel gulped. “Not--hang a man. I can’t believe that!” + +“But you could believe anything else. Thank you, Colonel.” + +“Whoever they were, they were left alone in that boathouse for an +hour or more,” Michael put in, “while the poacher was away. And +Loring was in a raging passion afterwards.” + +“Yes. Of course, you know, that fact strikes me as a little out of +keeping with the rest of what you seem to suggest. What need to rage +because one has just killed one’s rival?” + +“In such a way as to destroy one’s own chances?” + +“Yes--yes. There may be something in that, of course.” + +“I can’t believe it,” the Colonel repeated. + +“My dear Colonel,” said Wilson a little impatiently, “you won’t have +to believe it unless some more evidence is forthcoming. We still +don’t _know_ that Meston was there. I suppose”--to Michael--“your +suggestion is that while Machin was away he walked up the tow-path, +surprised the lovers, and got killed?” Michael nodded. “Getting +out of the inn late at night, and coming for a chance walk? I +hardly think that will do, you know. He must have had some sort of +intimation or warning. Now, how did he get it? Who knew that John +Loring was in the place?” + +“_I_ don’t know,” said the Colonel. “I didn’t. I suppose Sylvia did.” + +“Mrs. Meston,” said Wilson, “has very prudently departed, leaving no +address. We had better get on her tracks quickly, but for the answer +to my question we must, I’m afraid, try elsewhere. There’s just one +possibility that occurs to me. Will you send for Strake, the private +inquiry agent who has been messing around here, and let me question +him? He seemed to me to have some information up his sleeve.” + +The Colonel, looking rather bemused, gave the necessary orders. “And +then,” Wilson continued, when he returned, “Mr. John Loring also must +certainly be found and asked to explain. Have you any idea where he +is likely to have made for?” + +“Oh, I know where he is,” said the Colonel. “Godfrey Loring told me +last night, when he was on the ’phone to me. He had a motoring smash +a few days ago, on his way up to London, and is now lying ill at a +friend’s house in St. John’s Wood. But he’s getting much better, +Godfrey says.” + +“And will soon be about again, I suppose,” Wilson supplemented. +“Hadn’t you better make quite sure, that he comes here when he is, +Colonel?” + +“It won’t be easy,” the Colonel said, “if he went off in a rage.” + +“There is such a thing as a warrant,” Wilson cruelly reminded him. + +There was a gloomy silence, which was broken by the return of the +policeman sent to fetch Strake. + +“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, with a broad grin, “but Strake can’t +come.” + +“Can’t come?” + +“He’s in the Cottage Hospital, sir, with a broken nose and +contusions. The gentleman from Africa--Mr. Mackenzie--heard him in +the King’s Arms last night making allegations against Mrs. Meston, +and pretty near killed him. It took six of them to pull him off, and +the Hospital say he won’t be fit to move till to-morrow.” + +“You live in a violent neighbourhood, Colonel,” Wilson commented. +“However, I think we might as well hear what the ill-advised man did +say. Shall we try the Cottage Hospital?” + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + +Mr. Strake, in spite of his swollen and bandaged face, was not +unwilling to talk. In fact, he was very anxious, as soon as the Chief +Constable appeared at his bedside, to have a very long conversation +on the wickedness of the neighbourhood and on his own grievances in +particular. A prosecution of Mackenzie for assault and battery was +obviously the least that would satisfy him. + +“That will do,” Wilson cut into the tirade. “We know exactly what’s +happened to you. Now may I remind you that there’s such a thing as +provocation? What did you say that caused Mr. Mackenzie to attack +you?” + +“Nothing,” growled the injured one. “At least,” he amended, “I only +’inted Mrs. Meston was no better than she should be, as everybody +knows she ain’t, when he went for me like a wild beast.” + +“Did you specify any particular way in which Mrs. Meston’s conduct +was--open to suspicion?” Wilson asked smoothly. + +“Only corresponding with other men on the quiet while her husband was +alive.” + +“Just so. Did you perhaps take a note----?” + +“I didn’t!” said the man indignantly. “I never took any note. It was +that Potts took the note.”--“David Potts, footman at the Grange,” the +Colonel replied to Wilson’s glance of inquiry. + +“Oh! And what note did Potts take?--and how do you come to know +about it? Suppose you tell me the whole thing straight?” + +Strake was not unwilling to oblige, and explained that late in the +afternoon preceding Meston’s death, he had been lounging about the +cross-roads on the way to the Grange, when a man came along in a +two-seater Chrysler. Just after passing Strake, the man slowed down, +and seemed to hesitate. Then he saw Potts, who was walking along +the road, and hailed him in a loud, commanding voice. Strake, for +no reason at all except natural inquisitiveness, crept along the +hedge so that he could witness the interview, and heard the man +inquire of Potts whether Mrs. Meston was at the Grange. Hearing +that she was, he gave Potts a note, with instructions to deliver +it immediately to Mrs. Meston, and to no one else. He then turned +and drove away at a great pace inland, while Strake, his curiosity +thoroughly whetted, caught up Potts on the road to the Grange, +and soon discovered--though Potts did not appear to have been +communicative--that the strange man was the Squire’s brother, John +Loring. + +“And to whom did you pass on this interesting piece of news?” Wilson +asked. + +“Nobody.” + +“Come, I can’t believe that. Think again.” Mr. Strake thought, but +his thoughts did not appear to make him happy. Eventually, after some +wriggling, it transpired that he had, as a matter of fact, kept the +news of Mr. John Loring’s return to himself for some time. He had +intended originally to hand it over to Meston, for a consideration; +but had failed to catch the latter before his disappearance. Then +he had waited for him to return, rather wondering that nobody +but himself appeared to have seen John Loring; and when Meston +reappeared from the river under distinctly dubious circumstances, it +immediately occurred to him that his exclusive information might be +turned to profit. After the inquest he had approached Sylvia Meston, +with a request for a subvention as a price for holding his tongue. +At first she had abused him, but had eventually agreed to pay him +twenty-five pounds the following day; and he had let her go. But late +the same evening, while taking a quiet drink at the King’s Arms, +he had received the news of her departure, alone, with luggage, in +a great hurry, going Londonwards; and in his wrath at her apparent +deception, had made certain incautious reflections upon her morals. +Then from the corner of the room a tornado had fallen upon him, and +he literally knew nothing more until he found himself in bed at the +hospital. + +This was Strake’s story, and all Wilson’s questioning could get no +more out of him. It seemed certain that he had told all he knew. “We +shall have to confirm the note incident with Potts,” he said; “but it +seems pretty clear that Strake has told the truth, and that Mr. John +Loring was in the neighbourhood on the Friday afternoon, and sent a +note to Mrs. Meston by hand, which may almost be assumed to be an +appointment, or request for an appointment, for that evening by the +old ferry. I’m afraid, Colonel, that your next duty is clearly to get +hold of both those parties. They may know at the Grange where Mrs. +Meston was going--if she was not going to John Loring--and you might +be able to confirm the note incident at the same time. What sort of +fellow is this Potts, do you know?” + +“A sulky, hangdog sort of man,” the Colonel said, “though quite a +good servant, I believe. He’s been at the Grange some time and is +devoted to the Lorings; in fact, I think he was one of the men that +threw Meston out, the time when he went up in search of his wife.” + +“I see. Well, good luck to you.” + +“Did you think it might have been Strake who sent word to Meston of +his wife’s rendezvous?” Michael asked. + +“I did, but after questioning him I don’t. I’m pretty certain he told +us all he knew.” + +“Little swine!” said Michael. + +“Certainly. Not that his swinishness appears to have availed him +much, in the present case.” + +“But who was it then? Potts?” + +“Possibly. But I think not very likely. There seems no reason, if he +is as devoted to the Lorings as they say, why he should want to give +away the tryst. Nobody loved Meston at the Grange.” + +“But if Meston was summoned as part of a plot?” + +“You’ve an ingenious mind,” Wilson said. “Even so, Potts doesn’t +appear to have had much opportunity of hatching it, does he? But +whether or no, there’s one bit of investigation that I think might +be useful, at any rate. You remember Billings, the cowman, who saw +Meston’s light on till one o’clock or thereabouts? Well, I called +on him this morning to get his statement confirmed, and I found out +one rather interesting fact. Do you know how it happened that he +was awake at that time? His wife had a baby that night, and they +couldn’t get hold of the doctor--Dr. Kershaw--till after two o’clock.” + +“Why, where was he?” + +“Nominally, at the Grange. At least, when Billings first sent round +to his house, soon after midnight, he wasn’t there. He made a great +row, and Kershaw’s housekeeper, who doesn’t live actually on the +premises, but next door, heard him, and poked out her head to tell +him that the doctor was up at the Grange. Billings waited about an +hour; then, as his wife was obviously nearing her time, he sent one +of his boys again to the doctor’s house to hurry him up. The boy +could get no answer of any kind, and eventually cycled up to the +Grange, and found that Kershaw had left there between midnight and +half-past. He returned to the doctor’s house, expecting to find that +he was there before him, but all was silent. He then hammered loudly, +and roused the old housekeeper, who said she’d heard the doctor +come back and go out again, ‘nigh an hour ago.’ As Kershaw had left +the Grange on his bicycle, and as it takes about five minutes to +get on a bicycle from his house to the cottage, the Billingses were +considerably puzzled--particularly as Kershaw did not finally turn up +till after two, when the child was already born.” + +“And turned up very cross,” Michael supplemented. + +“So I gather. How did you know?” + +“I heard some chatter about it, in the pub, the afternoon Meston’s +body was found,” Michael said. “I hadn’t given it another thought +till this moment. It was apropos of Kershaw’s behaviour to me. They +were all exchanging reminiscences about his manners, and this story +was mentioned.” + +“I see. Well, it appears to be true enough. Billings said the doctor +looked very queer when he came, didn’t say a word about his lateness, +snapped all their heads off, and marched away the moment he’d +finished his job. And it was all they could do to get him to come and +see the patient again. Now, that leaves a good hour and a half of +Kershaw’s time unaccounted for on that Friday night--just about the +same time as is also unaccounted for of John Loring’s.” + +“I don’t quite see where we’re getting to, all the same,” Michael +remarked. “Do you mean Kershaw called up Meston, or murdered him, or +what?” + +“I’m not quite sure. But I think I’d like a little more information, +all the same. Would you like to be a burglar, Michael?” + +“I don’t mind. Whose house shall we burgle?” + +“Kershaw’s.” Wilson’s eyes had something of a schoolboy twinkle. “The +owner, I find on inquiry, is away for the week-end, and the charwoman +who does for him has also taken the time off. After I’d finished with +Billings I took a little turn through the village, and inspected +Kershaw’s house. I find it’s in the oldest part of the town, backing +on to a little alley-way, which appears to be almost unused. The back +wall of the house is old and quite climbable, and there are back +gates of which a piece of wire ought to make fairly short work. What +do you say?” + +“That’s why you were so late coming in to lunch!” Michael chuckled. +“And you never said a word. All right, I’m on.” + +Together they went up the streets of the little town, and explored +the alley-way. They found the wall even more easy to scale than they +had expected, and a very few moments saw them in Kershaw’s garden, +which was fortunately screened by higher walls and thick bushes from +observation by the neighbours. A French window at the back afforded +ridiculously easy access. “It’s very simple to be a burglar,” Michael +commented. “What are you looking for?” + +“I don’t know, quite. Evidence of character--past life--present +occupation--anything,” said Wilson, producing a pick-lock, and +beginning in a workmanlike way to rifle Kershaw’s desk. + +Whatever Kershaw’s past life might have been, he was not particularly +anxious to keep relics of it. Save for discharge papers and some +other no-account stuff relating to Army life, there was at first +glance nothing which threw light on his life prior to his arrival in +Steeple Tollesbury. + +“The man keeps nothing but his bills,” Michael said. “And he keeps a +good many of them,” turning out a drawer full of nothing else. + +“For a very good reason,” Wilson said. “They aren’t paid. And some +of the creditors are getting quite cross about it. Our friend seems +rather in financial difficulties. Hullo! this is interesting.” + +“What?” + +“Receipts, for a change. Quite a lot of them.” + +“Well, even the impecunious must pay _some_ bills occasionally.” + +“Yes, but not all at once. These are all dated last week, and they +would add up to quite a tidy sum.” + +“Looks as though he’d come into money.” + +“That seems to be indicated--though there isn’t any trace of the +money’s arrival. Let’s see if we can guess how much it was.” Wilson +made a rapid calculation on the back of an envelope. + +“Four hundred and twenty pounds’ worth of bills he paid in one +week. So whatever he received was more than that, anyway. Any more +financial information? His pass-book’s not here--presumably it’s at +the bank. And presumably his cheque-book’s on his person. But what +does he do with his butt-ends?” A long search eventually disclosed a +solitary butt-end reposing at the back of a drawer. + +“This is rather an old one,” Wilson said. “But it may be of some +help.” + +Michael ran his finger quickly through the items. “Edward Gordon, +whoever he is, had a lot.” + +“Jermyn Street,” said Wilson. “Moneylender. What date?” + +“1922.” + +“Umph. He’s been in financial difficulties for some time, then.” + +“The rest are all ordinary tradesmen, and cheques to self. There are +rather a lot of those, by the way. Looks as if he spent a lot on his +personal enjoyment--though you wouldn’t think it, to look at him.” + +“No bookies?” + +“Not visibly. There are some notes on the back of the self cheques, +though--five pounds to X and so on. Not a very great deal.” + +“Note them down, will you? and we’ll see.” Michael went through +the cheque-book, extracting all payments made to X. They were for +miscellaneous sums, mostly small, occurring at irregular intervals, +and totalling something over seventy pounds for the period covered by +the cheque-book. + +“What is it?” Michael asked. “Blackmail?” + +“It’s very odd blackmail, if it is,” Wilson said. “Paid at such odd +moments and in such odd amounts. The blackmailer must have had to +work hard for his living--it almost looks as though he came to the +door with a collecting card. Let’s go to his bedroom. There’s one +possible explanation of these payments that occurs to me, and it will +be in his bedroom, if anywhere.” + +Accordingly they made their way to Kershaw’s bedroom, which, though +a magnificent fourteenth-century-panelled apartment, had nothing +particular to tell them. After a few minutes’ search, however, Wilson +drew out a small box rather like a snuff-box, which he handed to +Michael. + +“Humph,” said the latter, having sampled the white powder inside. “Is +that what you guessed?” + +“Something like it,” Wilson replied. “When I saw him at the inquest, +I thought there was more than shell-shock in his eye. I fancy +investigation would show Mr. X to be a vendor of cocaine. Well, it’s +an expensive habit, and likely to sap the moral sense. Let’s try the +surgery.” + +They were on their way to the surgery when they were suddenly checked +by a prolonged peal of Kershaw’s front-door bell, followed by a loud +clamour on the knocker. + +“The caller’s in a hurry,” Wilson said. “Don’t make a noise.” + +He tiptoed back to the front room, followed by Michael, and peered +out cautiously from behind the curtain. A man with a letter in his +hand was standing at the street door, and as the burglars reached +the window he raised his hand and beat another violent tattoo on the +door. + +From the area of the next house an unkempt head looked out. “Bain’t +no use yammering there, Mr. Potts,” it said. “Doctor’s away to London.” + +“Ain’t Mrs. Craggs here?” said Potts crossly. + +“Noa; she’s gone to ’er married darter at Southend.” + +“Damnation!” said Potts. “Squire wants an answer to this. Suppose I’d +best leave it in the letter-box. When’s doctor coming back?” + +“To-night, for sure,” said the woman. “Mrs. Craggs she told me.” + +With another growl Potts pushed the letter into the letter-box, and +turned away. Wilson led the way downstairs. + +“This is mildly annoying,” he said. “I presume that this Potts is +the footman who acted as go-between for John Loring and his lady. +I wanted to have a word with him, but I could hardly spring out +unannounced from Kershaw’s front door. Shall we complete the good +work, and find out what the Squire has to say?” + +Michael’s expectations rose as Wilson opened the letter, but fell +heavily on seeing the contents. They consisted of a single square +sheet of paper with the Loring crest, on which was written, “Go to +hell!” There was nothing else, not even a signature. + +“It doesn’t appear, on the face of it, what answer the Squire +expected,” Michael said. “Nor does it tell us anything.” + +“Not much,” Wilson agreed. “This may, however, interest you more. I +found it with one or two old papers in his bedroom.” + +“This” was a letter to Kershaw from Mr. William Meston. Part of the +letter was missing, but enough remained to show its general tenor, +which was, to put it bluntly, that Mr. Meston did not at all approve +of Dr. Kershaw’s mode of life, and that if Dr. Kershaw could not +learn to keep his hands off certain unspecified persons, Mr. Meston +personally undertook to see that he was adequately punished. It was +not a letter which could have caused the recipient any pleasure; +and screwed up with it was what appeared to be the first draft of a +violent reply, from which, however, subsequent erasure had removed +most of the violence. + +“Second thoughts,” said Michael. + +“And very tame second thoughts,” Wilson added. “It’s pretty clear +that if he did answer Meston’s letter at all, it was in very mild +terms. Well, I think we’d better search the surgery and get out. +We can’t discuss the bearing of our new evidence here. Will you +bear witness that I found this in Kershaw’s house?” He pocketed the +incriminating letter. + +They examined the surgery with care but without result, and then +retraced their steps to the alley-way, relocking the French window, +and being careful to remove all traces of their entry. As they turned +out of the alley-way a cheerful voice hailed them. + +“Hullo!” it said; “inspecting our ancient architectural beauties? I’d +just been to call on Kershaw. That’s his place, just round there. But +he seems to be out. You didn’t find much down Hanging-Sword Alley, +did you?” + +“The old places seem to have been pulled down,” said Wilson, +wondering how much suspicion of their real errand this inconvenient +lawyer could have. + +“Yes--it’s a pity, in a way. They were picturesque if insanitary. +But we are a Borough, and we have an enlightened and unsentimental +Borough Council. Kershaw’s its mainstay: he believes in progress. +And, talking of progress, how’s the case? Hanged anybody yet?” + +“I am not aware that any crime has yet been proved,” Wilson said +stiffly. + +“Oh, come, my dear sir. You won’t give us our sensation at the +inquest. Why deprive us of it in private?” + +“If I may say so,” Wilson said, “you seem perfectly capable of +providing your own sensations, without any assistance from me.” + +“Nature,” said the lawyer, “abhors a vacuum--though I’m told no +scientific person now believes that. Progress is a most upsetting +thing. If you won’t tell us what did happen, though, you must +be prepared for intelligent surmise. Well, I mustn’t keep you. +Particularly as I think Miss Loring is looking for you around the Old +Malting House. I fancy she wants Dr. Prendergast. I told her I’d try +and see if I could locate you. But another time you ought really to +see the inside of Kershaw’s house. It’s a fine old place--fourteenth +century. I suppose you’ve not seen it, by any chance?” Was there, or +was there not, a twinkle in Brandreth’s eye? + +“Some time I hope you will take us there,” was all Wilson said. + +“I shall be delighted. You really mustn’t miss it. It’s as +interesting as its owner. Well, good-bye.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + +They hurried back to the inn, and found Edna Loring pacing up and +down outside, apparently in some agitation. Michael took her up to +their sitting-room, ordered tea, and waited for the ball to open. + +Edna wasted no time. “Dr. Prendergast,” she said, “have you seen Mark +to-day?” + +“No, nor for some time.” + +“We’ve had a row--I mean, this morning. And I can’t make it out, +because we never have rows--I mean Mark never quarrels. But to-day he +was furious.” + +“Why?” + +“What about, you mean. It was about Nick Hanborough, of all silly +things. You know what you told me yesterday about the firm”--to +Michael--“well, I began to ask him about it--we were going out for +the day--and he seemed frightfully annoyed that I knew, which of +course was ridiculous. As if I could help knowing something, in +a place like this. But Mark is ridiculous about women; he thinks +they’re all like his mother and sisters, and have to be kept in +glass cases. Anyway, I asked him whether he really thought Nick had +anything to do with it, and what it had got to do with Mr. Meston’s +death anyway. I don’t know whether you know; but half the place +thinks Meston was murdered--it’s absurd, of course, but there you +are. I didn’t mean anything particular, I just wanted to know; but +Mark turned quite white, and asked me what on earth I meant. So +I said people seemed to be very inquisitive about Nick, and even +asked where he was the night Meston died--you did, you know--and +I wanted to know what it was all about. Then Mark got whiter than +ever, and flew into a passion, and told me more or less I was a +scandal-mongering fool, and I’d better hold my tongue. The long and +short of it is that we had the first row we’ve ever had, and I told +Mark to take me back here, and he did, and drove off again. And what +I want to know now is whether I have put my foot in it frightfully, +and if so, how? Because I’ve never seen Mark like that before.” + +For a few moments both men were silent, weighing up the story. + +“Is it true that Meston was murdered?” Edna asked at last. + +“Miss Loring,” Wilson said, “if I give you some information which is +meant to relieve your mind, you must solemnly promise to keep it to +yourself. There is so much tattling going on in this town that it is +very difficult either to trust any one or to believe what’s said. +But if you will give me your word, I will tell you one or two things +which you can be certain are true. Good. Well, then, there _are_ +grave suspicions that William Meston was murdered on Friday night of +last week. It is not certain that he was; nor, if he was, is it known +why. But, under the circumstances, you will see that the police are +bound to make inquiries--routine inquiries--into the whereabouts of +any one connected with Meston on Friday night. Hence the interest in +Mr. Hanborough’s movements.” + +“Nick was with us,” Edna said. “I told Dr. Prendergast so.” + +“That may be fortunate for Mr. Hanborough,” Wilson said. “You will +possibly have to repeat it to the police. But----” + +“But Mark wasn’t! Oh, is that what you mean? Of course, I ought to +have known. Mark was outside, wandering about somewhere. But--Mr. +Wilson--_Mark_ wouldn’t murder anybody!” + +“Probably not,” said Wilson. “But for all that, he might not like too +much casual talk about Mr. Hanborough’s position--especially as they +are all three connected with a business which appears to have gone +wrong.” + +“I see. And do you think that’s all?--I mean, that’s why Mark was so +queer?” + +“That is all I can tell you. But I shouldn’t worry, Miss Loring, +until I had something more definite to worry about. If Meston was +killed, as I say, we don’t as yet know why--whether it was anything +to do with this financial affair or not. And it’s no use crossing +bridges till we come to them.” + +“Thank you very much.” Edna still looked thoughtful, but she did not +pursue the subject further, and soon afterwards finished her tea, and +took her leave, rejecting all offers to see her home. + +“What a fuss about nothing!” Michael said, when she was gone. + +“Nothing? Aren’t you rather Spartan, Michael? Do you call the +possible arrest of your fiancé, or your fiancé’s partner, for murder, +nothing?” + +“It’s not very likely,” Michael said, “since you’re here to see that +Lockwood doesn’t arrest innocent people.” + +“Oh, they’re innocent, are they? And who is guilty?” + +“Isn’t John Loring?” + +“Well, we haven’t got him or his statement yet,” Wilson pointed +out. “We don’t know what he’s got to say in his own defence. But, +as you seem to be certain, suppose you turn into counsel for the +prosecution, and tell me just why you’re so sure he killed Meston?” + +“I thought you were sure, too,” Michael said. “You hinted as much to +Lockwood, anyway. However, if you want an Aunt Sally, here goes. John +Loring was all but engaged to Mrs. Meston two years ago, and went off +in a fit of temper. Everybody agrees that if he hadn’t gone to China +before he had time to make it up he would have married her. You grant +that?” Wilson nodded, and he continued: + +“Well, then, Mrs. Meston gets married, also in a fit of temper, and +repents without even a decent interval of leisure. She informs her +husband that she’s made a mistake, and he informs her she’s got +to stick to it. The cat-and-dog life they lead gets all round the +neighbourhood, and presumably reaches the former lover--China isn’t +all that distance away, you know, nowadays. Mrs. Meston, meanwhile, +gets deeper and deeper in a set that has the reputation of sticking +at nothing; and finally runs away--with a magnificent field of +co-respondents ready to hand. Of course, she may have known then that +Loring was coming back, though I’m inclined to think she didn’t. +Anyway, she ran away; and when Meston came to fetch her back he was +thrown out of the house. And she’d gone into Colchester with one of +her paramours, and taken away every stick that belonged to her. That +looks as if she meant her departure to be pretty final. Mark you,” +Michael said, warming to his theme, “she hadn’t the smallest chance +of getting untied and marrying her lover except through Meston’s +death. He wouldn’t divorce her, and she couldn’t divorce him. + +“Then comes the evening of this party at the Grange. Whether expected +or not, John Loring turns up in the afternoon, and sends a note to +Mrs. Meston, presumably asking her to meet him at the old boathouse +that night, which she agrees to do. They meet, as Machin saw them. +Then, when Machin has gone away, Meston comes up and surprises them. +Loring, in a desperate rage, and not knowing that any one else has +witnessed their encounter, kills Meston and sends the woman off by +herself. Then he makes tracks for London. Mrs. Meston hangs on, +believing his presence unknown, till she’s alarmed by Strake’s +stories. Then she, too, makes tracks, after a futile attempt to throw +you off the trail. That’s my reading, Harry. What do you say to it?” + +“I should like,” said Wilson, “to know exactly how, in your view, +Hanborough and the matter of the firm’s books fit into it.” + +“They don’t fit at all. They’ve nothing whatever to do with it. +It’s just an instance,” said Michael, doing his best to imitate his +friend’s mannerisms, “of how chance coincidences may mislead an +investigator.” + +“I see. Well, there’s something in being ruthless, perhaps. But I’ve +a larger snag for you. How did Meston happen to be walking that way +at such a timely hour?” + +“He was warned, I suppose.” + +“By whom?” + +“I don’t know--I suppose it must have been Potts.” + +“Who has the reputation of being devoted to the Lorings, and who +had previously thrown Meston out of the Grange. _Would_ he take the +trouble to warn Meston about his own master’s doings?” + +“I don’t know. Perhaps not. But he must have been warned.” + +“Another point,” Wilson continued. “You remember how Meston was +killed? Hanged, by a silk rope. Where did that rope come from? One +doesn’t find silk ropes lying about in disused boathouses.” + +“I see,” Michael said slowly. “You mean--the murderer must have +brought it with him?” + +“Somebody must, at all events. I’m not destroying your theory, +Michael. I only want to point out that it has implications which +I’m not sure you’ve taken in yet. If there was a silk rope at the +boathouse on the night of Friday week, it wasn’t there by accident. +It was brought, presumably, by the person who was going to use +it. But that isn’t murder committed in the heat of passion, by a +man surprised by his bitter rival; it’s a cold-blooded, planned, +diabolical killing. And the woman must have been party to it, +probably stood by and saw it done, for Machin’s story makes it quite +certain that the killing did not take place after Mrs. Meston left +and before John Loring’s departure. Whatever was done, was done while +she was there. I suggest that we ought to make fairly sure of our +ground, seeing the character of the crime we are postulating. + +“Another point. Not only must the hanging have been planned in +advance--the victim also must have been brought to the spot by +premeditation. The murderer could not have relied on any chance +passing on of gossip. Do you suggest that Potts was primed by John +Loring to bring Meston to his death?” + +Michael pondered; then a light suddenly burst on him. “No!” he cried. +“Not Potts! Kershaw!” + +“Kershaw?” + +“Kershaw. Wasn’t that what you were trying to suggest to me? Kershaw, +as we’ve seen from his papers, must have had a pretty hefty grudge +against Meston--the more so as he had, apparently, to swallow +Meston’s abuse. Kershaw’s very thick with the Lorings, everybody +says, particularly lately. Perhaps he, too, was in love with Mrs. +Meston--no, that won’t work,” said Michael, checking himself. +“Anyway, Loring fixed it up with him--he’d have had plenty of time +to do it, because we haven’t any idea what happened to him between +the time when he met Potts on the road and midnight. Loring goes +to the old boathouse with his silk rope. Kershaw leaves the Grange +early--just the time when Billings couldn’t find him anywhere--goes +and rouses Meston, tells him where his wife is, and sends him to his +death. Then, when the body turns up, or, rather, when _I_ turn up, +Kershaw bashes it on the head so as to try and make it look like +accident. Of course, that’s it! And Loring would have had to find out +Meston’s movements from somebody. I suppose Kershaw told him.” + +“How, in your view, did Kershaw give his fatal message? Did he stand +in a boat and shout it? Or bawl from the opposite bank? The wall of +the inn goes straight down into the water, you’ll remember.” + +Michael hesitated, but only for a moment. “He could get in quite +easily, and go right up to Meston’s room. This is the easiest +place in the world to get in and out of. The front door’s locked +at night, but that’s only a kind of token vote. Anybody could get +in--and out--almost anywhere. That’s one of the reasons it’s been so +difficult to decide when Meston _did_ depart.” + +“Well, then, how did Meston get to his rendezvous in time to be +murdered? Kershaw didn’t leave the Grange till after midnight. +Meston, according to your theory, was murdered at all events soon +after one. And it’s a good three miles’ pitch-dark walk along the +tow-path.” + +Once again Michael surmounted the obstacle. “Kershaw had a bicycle. +He took Meston along--perhaps he helped to murder him; it would have +been a difficult job single-handed. And then he cycled back quickly +to get to Billings’s cottage.” + +“And Mackenzie? And your other suspects?” + +“Not on the map.” + +“You’re very ingenious, Michael,” Wilson sighed. “You really answer +my objections most convincingly.” + +“_And_,” Michael ended triumphantly, “Kershaw got five hundred +pounds, or something like it, for his share in the business. That’s +how he managed to pay his bills last week. Isn’t that what you were +hinting to me?” + +“I had suspected something of that sort. But----” + +“What’s the matter, Harry? Don’t you agree with me?” + +“I expect,” Wilson said, “that a psycho-analyst would tell you that +I don’t want to agree, and that that proves conclusively how right +you must be. To be honest, I am not perfectly sure. The whole crime, +as you’ve reconstructed it, suggests a diabolical completeness of +prearrangement which doesn’t somehow seem to fit with the known +characters.” + +“You haven’t seen John Loring,” Michael pondered, “so it can’t +be him that it doesn’t suit. It must be Mrs. Meston. You’ve let +that woman get hold of you, Harry! It’s just the same with you as +with Lockwood--she’s bemused you, and you don’t want to think her +concerned, so you won’t!” + +“More psycho-analysis! Lockwood and I, I admit, both agree in +preferring defiant sinners. You, I fancy, like them sad and +repentant.” + +“You admit she’s a sinner, anyway?” + +“That depends, doesn’t it, on the amount and degree of the sin. +You condemn her because she uses the natural weapons of her sex, +answers you back when you’re rude, and lies to get herself out of +a corner. Very reprehensible, no doubt, but hardly on the same +plane as deliberate murder, I think. Besides, let me put another +point, which may appeal to you more. The whole business seems to +me so excessive. Sylvia Meston wanted to exchange her husband for +John Loring--granted. But in these degenerate days it is almost +unnecessary to remove the male obstant. I don’t feel the Loring +ménage would insist on John’s making an honest woman of his paramour. +Why not simply go off together?” + +“Well, perhaps it was Kershaw’s idea,” Michael persisted. “Meston may +have been in his way to an extent that nothing but death would solve. +Or there may have been other reasons. We don’t know the whole story +yet.” + +“We do not. Perhaps the young man will be able to enlighten us. Come +in!” + +Sergeant Linton, more portentous in civilian clothes, entered the +room. “Colonel Lockwood asked me to let you know, sir, he’s got Mr. +John Loring at his house under arrest. He thought you’d maybe step +around after dinner.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + +Three days before the discussion which took place in the last +chapter, a young man who lay with a bandaged head in bed at a house +in St. John’s Wood, becoming vaguely aware that certain irritating +sounds in the bedroom were on the whole new to him, turned half +round and opened his eyes to look at them. When he discovered that +the source of the sounds was not the nurse, but a tweed-clad person, +who was sitting by the bedside attending to the needs of his pipe, +he gave an irritated snort and rolled over again. The operation was +painful, and he cursed. + +“Is he better, eh, Nurse?” said the tweed-clad one. + +“Much better,” responded the nurse from some distant corner of the +room. “We’ll have him about again in a couple of days.” + +“Better!” growled the patient. “You’d call yourself better if there +were a dozen trench-mortars going off inside your head, and you were +nothing but aches all the way down! Better!” + +“Well, what do you expect,” his friend said, with irritating +reasonableness, “when you butt a car end on? I say, Johnnie, how on +earth did you manage it?” + +“How the hell should I know? I wish you’d go away and leave me alone!” + +“Ungrateful devil, isn’t he?” the other apostrophised the nurse. +“About as pleased as your dear brother was when I told him how I’d +been a good Samaritan to you.” + +“What!” In his indignation the patient nearly leapt out of bed. “You +didn’t tell them at home, you damned blasted fool! Why the hell did +you do that?” + +“Well, how was I to know you didn’t want me to? _You_ weren’t sayin’ +nuffin, and it’s usual to let a chap’s relations know if he’s going +to kick the bucket. Ain’t you the heir and all that sort of thing?” + +“You might have waited till I had, at least!” + +“Well, _I_ didn’t know what you were going to do. You might have been +killed, for all I knew, and there was the other chappie dancing round +and howling like a damned dervish. Can’t imagine why he hasn’t set +the cops on you already. Seriously, old thing, I thought you might +be going to croak, and Godfrey ought to know about it, if you were. +If I’ve put my foot in it, I apologise; but I don’t see how I was to +know if you didn’t tell me.” + +“Oh, all right,” John Loring grumbled. “I suppose you couldn’t help +it. I never want to hear a word of any of them again, that’s all, and +I don’t suppose they do, either. Did my charming brother show any +interest, did you say?” + +“Not much, I’m sorry to tell you,” said his friend, filling his pipe. +“I must say I feel for you, ol’ man, having been a younger brother +myself. I can’t say he seemed anything but relieved to hear it was me +picked you up and he hadn’t got owt to do with it. Still, don’t take +it to heart, my boy. I expect he was up to the eyes with this chap +who’s gone and drowned himself. By the way, wasn’t Meston rather a +_bête noire_ of yours, one time?” + +“Go to hell!” was the reply. “I tell you I don’t want to hear a word +about any of them.” + +“No, but, I say, you ought to be bucked about this. He’s gone and got +drowned, or drowned himself, it says in the paper. What’s the matter +now?” + +“Hell! What’s the good of telling me that _now_? Do shut up! Oh, +Lord, what a rotten head I’ve got! I wish you’d take your filthy pipe +away, Phil--and your face too.” John Loring, no better at bearing +unexpected pain than most young men, rolled over again and swore +furiously. + +“I think you’d better go now, Mr. Weaver,” the nurse suggested. “He’s +had enough visitors for the moment. You’ll find him quite different +when he’s had a sleep,” she added in a whisper; and Philip Weaver, +with various winks and grunts expressive of tactful understanding, +took himself out of the room, feeling that ingratitude was certainly +the portion of the good Samaritans of this world. + +John Loring, however, had a naturally tough constitution, and, once +he had got over the shock of his accident, his health, though not +at the moment his spirits, began to improve rapidly. By the Sunday +morning he was well enough to be dressed and to lie on Weaver’s sofa, +turning over a sheaf of Sunday papers, and impartially cursing the +items of news therein. + +“Thought you said the brute drowned himself,” he growled at Weaver. + +“What brute?” + +“That,” said John, pushing the paper over. For some reason he seemed +to fight shy of Meston’s name. “It says there he fell in.” + +“Well, I didn’t say he didn’t, did I? I only said he might have. By +Jove,” said Weaver, looking down the report of the inquest at Steeple +Tollesbury, “that’s dashed odd, isn’t it? The chappie seems to have +come to his berluggy end the same night as you smashed. Did you see +anything of him, by any chance?” + +“No, I didn’t! Do you mean it was the same day? Let’s see. Oh, hell, +what a mess!” John flung himself back on the couch and beat the +cushions as if his emotions defied any other expression. + +“I say, old man,” Weaver went on, after a pause, “you know I hate to +bother you and all that; but I wish you’d tell me what in thunder did +happen. I choked off the Johnny you bashed for a bit, and I don’t +think he’s killed, which is a mercy, cos the courts are always down +on manslaughter cases; but I’ve been surprised he hasn’t been along +to curse, and I’d awfully like to know what to say when he _does_ +come.” + +“I don’t care what you say. What’s it matter? I’m sure I don’t know +what happened. I just ran into him, that’s all, and I don’t remember +anything more till I woke up here with hell’s own headache and pains +all over me.” + +“With your lights off, old boy?” + +“With my what? Oh, hadn’t I put ’em on? I suppose I forgot. They’re +beastly things, anyway--make the road go all jumpy. Where did I do +the deed, by the way?” + +“Cross-roads a couple of miles out of Epping. I don’t know what +happened--I wasn’t there. I’d been up at Morton’s place, and was +buzzing back to town in a hurry, when I heard a chappie hooting no +end on his horn and yelling ‘Keep out of the way!’ So I slowed down, +and there you all were in the devil of a mess. You must have just +missed hitting him amidships--as it was, you’d slewed him all across +the road and buckled his hind-wheels, and chucked the chap himself +through his windscreen. He was cut about and bleeding a bit, but +nothing to write home about. _Your_ bus was tipped over on its side +right across the road, and you’d been thrown out and were lying there +looking like a goner. You made me feel quite queer in the tummy, I +do assure you; but I think, if you ask me, it was luck for you, for +the grocer or whatever he was would’ve certainly killed you on the +spot if you hadn’t looked dead already. As it was, he let it all off +to me, and made me tell him who you were and go and feel your lamps. +And they were cold as stone, so they can’t’ve been on for some time. +Eventually, when he’d used all the cuss-words he knew, he helped me +load you into my bus, and we hoofed yours into the ditch somehow out +of the way, and I went in to Epping and got somebody to go out and +bring him in--fortunately it was a jolly hot night or he might have +died of pneumonia. When I got to town, I routed out Maurice, and he +came along grousing, and said you weren’t killed, and I was jolly +relieved, I can tell you. But I’ve been waiting for the other chap to +turn up ever since; he took your name, and said he’d have the law of +you. However, he hasn’t been, and I hope he won’t now.” + +“I don’t care if he does,” said John. “What’s it matter, anyway?” + +“I say, is anything up, really?” Weaver asked curiously. “You seem a +bit pipped, I must say, for a fellow that’s been miraculously saved +from pegging out. Maurice said if your skull had been a millimetre +thinner you’d have been a gone coon.” + +“Only I wish it had been,” John growled. “Or I wish you’d let the +fellow bash my head in. Sorry, Phil, I ought to be grateful to you +for saving my life, I know. Only, as it happens, I’m not interested +in it at the moment.” + +“Well, I’m damned if I know what’s to be done with you,” Weaver +sighed. + +“Does it matter?” said John, returning to the _Sunday Express_. + +Late on the same afternoon, however, the problem of Mr. John Loring’s +immediate future, was somewhat rudely solved. The bell of Weaver’s +flat rang in a peremptory manner, and, on going to the front door, +its owner found there two persons whose official manner immediately +suggested plain-clothes policemen. + +“Is Mr. John Loring here?” one of them asked. “The same that met with +a motor accident last Friday week? Thank you. May we have a word with +him, please?” + +“Oh, well, that’s torn it,” thought Weaver resignedly. “I suppose the +grocer fellow must have woken up at last. Poor old Johnnie, I hope +they won’t give him too rough a time.” And he led the way into the +sitting-room, where John still lay on the couch embedded in a débris +of newspapers. + +“Mr. John Loring?” the first of the two policemen asked. + +“That’s my name.” John Loring did not look up. + +“Mr. Loring, I am Inspector Bille, of the Essex County Constabulary.” +At the name, Philip Weaver gave a weak giggle, which he immediately +suppressed as its owner turned a stern official eye on him. “I have +to ask you to be good enough to come with me.” + +“Where to?” + +“To Colonel Lockwood’s house. He is anxious to have a few words with +you.” + +“I’m damned if I will,” said John, without moving. “If Lockwood wants +to talk to me he can come and find me, and you can tell him I said +so.” + +“I’m afraid that won’t do, sir,” the Inspector said politely. +“Colonel Lockwood gave strict orders for you to go to his house.” + +“Well, you can take ’em back again. I’m not going near the place.” + +“Come, Mr. Loring, it’s no manner of use taking that tone. Orders are +orders, you know, and I’ve orders to bring you back with me.” + +“Hard luck on you,” said John Loring insolently. “What’ll they do to +you? Take away your stripes?” + +“Now, Mr. Loring, I don’t want to make it unpleasant for you----” + +“Then you’d better take your face out of here quickly!” + +“--but you’ll see that I must do my duty. Let me tell you that +it will be much better for you if you’d come without making +difficulties.” + +“But look here, Inspector,” Weaver struck in, seeing the veins swell +on his lodger’s forehead, “aren’t you getting rather on your high +horse, don’t you know? I mean, you’re not dealing with a criminal, +are you? ’Tisn’t a crime to have a motor smash, and if the chappie +wants satisfaction, he might at least ask for it like a gentleman, +what?” + +“Motor smash?” said the Inspector. “I’m not talking about any motor +smash.” + +“Then what in hell’s name _are_ you talking about?” + +“Mr. Loring,” said the Inspector, “are you not aware that Mr. +Meston’s body was found in the Toll last Wednesday?” + +John Loring threw the papers away, and turned on him with a face of +fury. “Will _none_ of you let me alone?” he shouted. “What the devil +does it matter to me where you found his lousy body? You don’t expect +me to put on mourning for him, do you?” + +“No; but Colonel Lockwood would like to ask you a few questions----” + +“Devil take you and the Colonel too! I tell you I won’t answer any +questions! What’s the man got to do with me?” + +“Colonel Lockwood,” the Inspector persisted, “wishes to put a few +questions to you about your movements last Friday night.” + +The Inspector could hardly have expected an amiable reply; but even +he must have been astonished by the reception of his remark. For John +Loring, his face suddenly flushing a deep red, leaped from the couch +and flung himself at the Inspector’s throat, muttering, “You damned +swine! Say that again, will you?” + +Taken aback by the sudden onslaught, the Inspector reeled against +the door, and would have fallen had not his companion caught him. +There ensued a sharp but short mêlée, in which Philip Weaver, utterly +bewildered by the turn of events, played no part, but stood gaping +against the wall while the Inspector and the policemen dealt firmly +but effectively with Loring. + +“Well?” the latter demanded sullenly, when he was once more back on +the couch, with the policemen sitting astride his legs. “Two of you +against a crock! I hope you’re satisfied. What are you going to do +now? Arrest me?” + +“Not unless you make it necessary, sir,” the Inspector said in +a soothing tone. “I’m still in hopes you’ll come with us like a +sensible man. I’ve a car outside.” + +“And if I don’t?” + +“Then I’m afraid I shall have to arrest you, sir. But, believe me, I +don’t want to.” + +“But what in God’s name are you going to arrest him for?” Weaver put +in. The Inspector turned an extinguishing eye on him. + +“That, sir, is between me and Mr. Loring. Come now, sir, are you +coming?” + +“I am not.” John Loring set his teeth and passed his hand over his +eyes. “If you’ve anything to arrest me for, you can arrest and be +damned; but I’m not going back to Steeple Tollesbury unless you drag +me. And that’s my last word, so you can stop arguing.” + +“Then,” the Inspector’s voice became very official, “I have to arrest +you, John Loring, on the charge of being concerned in the murder of +William Meston at Steeple Tollesbury on the night of Friday, August +the ninth, and to warn you that anything you say may be used in +evidence against you.” + +“What!” The prisoner, who had sat half up, fell back with a gasp. +“You don’t mean--O God, that about puts the lid on it! The +dirty little swine! All right, Billy-boy, arrest away. I’ll come +quietly--isn’t that the word? Only mind my head. I’ve got the most +damnable headache after talking to you. Bye-bye, Phil; I’ll see you +get a bit of the rope.” + +And in such manner did Mr. John Loring return to the home of his +forefathers. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + +“This,” said Colonel Lockwood, “is Superintendent Wilson, of Scotland +Yard. Superintendent Wilson, Mr. John Loring.” + +“Do I say, ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wilson,’ or, ‘Damn you for a +cursed, interfering swine’?” John Loring asked amiably. “The latter +seems more appropriate, I think. Please consider it said.” He sank +back into the Colonel’s arm-chair, with which, in deference to his +physical condition, he had been accommodated, and leant his scowling +head on his hand. + +Wilson looked at him with some curiosity. He saw a tall, powerfully +built man, four or five years younger than his brother, the Squire, +but of the same general physical appearance. John, however, was +the better-looking of the two, mainly because, owing either to the +superior discipline of life in China or simply to less self-indulgent +habits, he was obviously in much better general condition. He had +Godfrey’s broad, low brow and heavy jaw, and the same deep-set +grey eyes; but he was thinner and browner altogether, the bones +of his face and head still stood out clearly, and he had not yet +begun to thicken about the neck. At present he was looking very +wan and exhausted, which was not surprising, considering that he +had absolutely refused to touch either food or drink in Colonel +Lockwood’s house; but his powers of resistance appeared unabated, +and Wilson’s first reflection, on seeing him, was that the Colonel +seemed to have bungled the affair again, and that it was long odds +on extracting an admission, or indeed any information, from this +formidable young man. Why on earth had Lockwood not gone to London +himself, and put his own questions? Anything rather than let himself +be jockeyed into making a quite possibly premature arrest. One fact, +nevertheless, Wilson had to admit. There was no doubt that John +Loring was physically capable of committing the crime they had set +out to investigate. + +“You know, John,” the Colonel said in a tone of mild reproof, “you’re +not helping us very much.” + +“I’m not trying to. Did I look as if I was?” was the reply. “I don’t +know who killed the blighter and I don’t care. If I did I wouldn’t +tell you. He deserved all he got. I hope you’re taking all this down, +by the way?” + +“You,” said the Colonel, “were in Steeple Tollesbury the night when +he was murdered.” + +“So were you,” said John. “Did you kill him? I congratulate you, +Lockwood. I didn’t think you had it in you.” + +“You had a grudge against him.” + +“Have it your own way. You know best, I’m sure. What about it?” + +“Mr. Loring,” Wilson said, “I think you’ve got this affair the wrong +way round. We are not trying to make you incriminate yourself; we are +only asking for an explanation on one or two points----” + +“Don’t you wish you may get it?” + +“You were in Sir Felix Lewis’s boathouse from midnight till about +1.30 on that Friday night.” Wilson saw Loring’s hand clench, but he +said nothing. “What we want to know is what you were doing there, +and what you did when you left?” No answer. + +“And who was with you,” said the Colonel injudiciously. Loring put +his hand down in order to glare at him; but an expression of relief +showed momentarily in his eyes. + +“You don’t want much, do you?” he said. + +“I don’t think so,” the Colonel replied, “seeing that a man has been +murdered in what even his enemies must admit to have been a cowardly +manner----” + +“How _was_ he murdered?” John interrupted. “You didn’t mention that. +You’ve given me a pile of gossip and things I didn’t ask for about +my own movements, but you haven’t told me the really interesting +thing--how that ---- got himself done in.” + +“For the moment,” Wilson put in, “I think we might leave that. The +thing is, Mr. Loring, that it is necessary, in the best interests +of all who knew Mr. Meston, and particularly, if I may say so, of +those who are known to have been on bad terms with him, that they +should give us a frank account of their movements on the night he was +murdered. That is the reason we are asking you these questions.” + +“To which you seem to know the answers--or have ’em made up,” said +John. “Why bother me?” + +“We should like your confirmation,” said the Colonel. + +“I’ve no doubt you would,” with a sneer, “but that’s just what you +aren’t going to get. My dear fool, do you think I don’t know you, +that you come here with a booby-trap and expect me to walk into it, +and hang myself out of my own mouth to oblige you and my precious +brother? I’ve told you I didn’t kill him, and if that isn’t enough +for you, you can go and whistle for more, or get some of your dirty +little police spies to swear it. I don’t admit I was here on Friday +night; I don’t admit I was at the boathouse; I don’t admit anything. +Now go to hell!” His voice died away, and his eyes stared suddenly. + +“Look out!” said Wilson. “He’s going to faint!” But before they could +get to the prisoner he had slid forward in a heap and dropped inertly +on the floor. He was a good thirteen stone in weight, and they had to +summon the assistance of the sergeant on guard before they could get +him restored to consciousness and placed on the couch, where he lay +glaring at them like a trapped beast, but obviously beyond speech. +Wilson noted that the sergeant appeared to relish his job no better +than the Colonel, and approached the prisoner with an odd mixture +of pity and deference. Plainly, Mr. John Loring was popular in the +neighbourhood; and his arrest was not likely to range the gossiping +population on the side of the law. + +“You aren’t likely to get anything more out of him to-night,” Wilson +said in an undertone to the Colonel. “In fact, I should get him to +bed as quickly as possible.” + +“Here?” said the Colonel, in the tone of one asked to extend a +neighbourly lodging to a tiger. + +“Well, he obviously isn’t fit to be housed in jail,” said Wilson. +“You can put a guard, if you think he’s likely to run away. +Personally, I doubt his having the strength for it, at the moment. +You might get Kershaw to have a look at him, if he’s back.” For +reasons of his own, he rather wished his two suspects to have a +chance of communicating. + +“Kershaw--can go to--hell,” the prisoner remarked in a faint but +forcible whisper, as if he had read Wilson’s thoughts. “I’ll give +you--parole--if you like. Won’t run away--feel too--damned sick.” And +he shut his eyes as if the effort of keeping them open was beyond his +strength. + +“What do you make of it, Wilson?” the harassed Colonel said, when he +had, with considerable labour, installed John Loring in his spare +room. “It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?” + +“It looks to me very much the same as it did,” was the reply. “We +haven’t succeeded in getting any fresh information--in fact, we’re +just where we were.” + +“But look how he’s incriminated himself!” the Colonel cried. “You +didn’t hear half what he said about Meston! It would be enough to +hang him with any ordinary jury.” + +“Oh no, Colonel, it wouldn’t. A clever counsel could easily turn +that to the prisoner’s advantage. It’s quite rare for a man who +premeditates a crime like this to give himself away afterwards by +abusing his victim. We know, of course, that Loring doesn’t like Mr. +Meston; but that, by all accounts, we knew before.” + +“But it’s indecent,” the Colonel said, “to curse the man when he’s +dead.” + +“Oh, Mr. John Loring is obviously in an exceedingly bad temper--a +worse temper, one would think, than would be normal under the +circumstances. But is it so out of keeping with his character?” The +Colonel could not say that it was. “There you are, then. That goes no +way with a local jury. I’m bound to say it seems to me that there’s +more in his manner than meets the eye. But I don’t think, in his +present mood, he’s likely to explain that for us himself. We’ll have +to look for it elsewhere.” + +“Then you don’t think he’s guilty?” + +“I did not say so.” Wilson, tired himself with a long day and a +series of disturbing suspicions, had much ado not to show his +impatience. “What I meant to imply was that it is by no means fitted +together yet, and that we certainly haven’t enough evidence to go +before a jury. In the first place, we’re not definitely sure that +it was Mrs. Meston who was with him at the boathouse, though I +don’t feel much doubt that it was, and we can probably succeed in +proving it. But, what’s much more important, we’ve no real evidence +that Meston was there too, and that’s very much too large a fact to +assume--however sure we may be in our own minds. Did you see the man +Potts, by the way?” + +“No; he had the day off. I’ll see him to-morrow,” the Colonel +promised. + +“The answer may be there--though I’m more inclined to think we’ve +got to look further. Anyway, I’m not satisfied yet,” And with this +negative conclusion Michael also had to be content, when his friend +returned to bed at the Old Malting House. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + +“So you’re going to hang the Squire’s brother! What terrible +fellows you are, to let loose on a quiet town!” Like a cheerful +Jack-in-the-box, Mr. Brandreth popped out of an entry, and strolled +along by the side of a very reluctant Michael. Driven from Wilson’s +company by a curt intimation that the latter wanted to think and that +he got in the way, Michael had chosen the calm of the High Street in +preference to the buzz of the inn; but it appeared that he had jumped +from the frying-pan into the fire. Curse the fellow and his gift of +ubiquity! + +“I hope, for his own sake, your friend’s got plenty of evidence +against him,” Brandreth continued. “It won’t be a popular arrest +hereabouts. Our democracy has always taken John’s side against the +Squire.” + +“Don’t they get on, then?” + +“There’s a proverb hereabouts,” the lawyer said. “Two Lorings, one +hanging. I don’t know that it’s generally fulfilled in detail, but +one feels that it might be any moment. The father and uncle of these +two had a regular battle-royal, and there would have been murder done +if they hadn’t been separated. And John and Godfrey have fought from +their cradles. Oh, it’s not about anything; it never is. Just two +Lorings--that’s all. Not that I think your friend’s very wise to go +nap on John, you know. I don’t exactly fancy him in the part.” + +“Then who do you fancy?” + +“Oh, come, I’m not a tipster. I never back my fancy, even when +the field’s small. And in this case, I fear it’s rather a large +one. I always felt, you know, that the late William Meston was one +of Nature’s murderees, if I may put it that way--only convention +keeps most of us from following our natural impulses. By the way, +talking of him, what does Mr. Wilson make of his researches into the +financial affairs of his own firm?” + +“Why should he make anything? He’s investigating his death, not his +financial position.” + +“Oh, he doesn’t think they’re connected, then? That’s very +interesting. Now I wonder----You had a bit of a look into that, +hadn’t you? Would it be very indiscreet to ask what sort of +conclusion you reached?” + +“It would,” said Michael, with a firmness not unmixed with pleasure +at being able to baffle the solicitor for once in a way. “Anyway, I +don’t see why on earth you should assume I’ve any interest in the +matter.” + +“My dear sir, Colchester is a charming town, no doubt; but few find +it so attractive as to want to go there, with the prospect of an +exciting inquest at home. But I forgot--of course you must have known +that the inquest was going to be a wash-out. Your friend’s rather +hard on us, isn’t he? Withholding of information beyond a certain +point about seems to me a crime.” + +“It’s a crime which can affect you singularly little!” Michael +retorted. “You seem to know who is guilty, or who is going to be +hanged, before I do myself!” + +“Oh, as to that,” said Brandreth, unperturbed, “you can’t expect to +bring John Loring home in a motor with two plain-clothes men, and +lodge him in Lockwood’s house all night, without having a bit of a +buzz about it. You see, we in these parts don’t need uniforms to +rouse our suspicions. We know our local force’s Sunday best as well +as its blues, and so--we draw our own conclusions.” + +“Well, you’d better go on drawing them,” said Michael, moving off. +“It seems to me you get much more interest out of life that way than +I could give you.” + +“Meaning you won’t tell me what you found in Colchester. Well, well, +it’s a pity,” said Mr. Brandreth. “And after all the interesting +conversations you must have had with Strake, too.” Michael made +a sudden movement, as he remembered how on the morning following +the finding of the body he had surprised Brandreth in an earnest +conversation with the inquiry agent. “Oh, Strake’s not as secret as +the grave, I’m quite aware. The difficulty is, isn’t it, to know what +to believe and what not to believe with a fellow like that? I was in +hopes you’d have been able to sift his stories a little. But, if you +can’t, you can’t. Any time you _do_ feel like a chat about it, of +course, I’m your man. By the way,” as Michael made another effort to +get away, “I was thinking of going along to Kershaw’s place now. Care +to come with me? It’s really worth seeing.” + +“Sorry; I’m afraid I can’t manage it at the moment.” Brandreth looked +at him with a quizzical smile. + +“Well, well, I’m not sure you’re not right. Perhaps, on the whole, +Kershaw might be a little sore at the way you’ve treated him.” + +“Sore? Treated him? What do you mean?” Michael’s wrath with the +doctor had been overlaid a little by the events of the last few days; +but it was still lively enough to awake at any suggestion that he had +been in the wrong. + +“Why, I don’t know what you said to Kershaw or he to you. But if you +let him make a fool of himself in open court, he’s hardly likely to +be pleased.” + +“He gave his own evidence.” + +“Pointing to accidental death--and you go and arrest John Loring for +murder!” + +“Why should you assume----” + +“That it was murder? Well, I don’t suppose Mr. Wilson arrested him +for accidentally pushing Meston into the water. And you’ve just told +me it wasn’t anything to do with Meston’s financial affairs.” + +“You’re very certain Wilson _did_ arrest him,” said Michael, biting +his lip. + +“Didn’t he? Lockwood’s a very impulsive fellow at times,” said +Brandreth sympathetically. “But I shouldn’t have thought his impulses +would have led him to arrest John, unprompted. However that may be, +it does seem to mean Kershaw’s got a bit of a grievance. He says +somebody’s been burgling his house, by the way. Odd sort of thing +to do; I shouldn’t think there was twenty pounds’ worth of stuff in +the place, bar the house itself. But he’s quite annoyed about it.” +He stared at Michael till the latter felt that the marrow of his +spine was blushing. Suddenly there was a welcome diversion. “Good +heavens!” said Mr. Brandreth, “there’s a man trying to get into my +house, and the housekeeper’s out. I must go. So sorry. Au revoir, +Dr. Prendergast.” And he trotted off to his house at a pace which +Michael could not help thinking unduly speedy for a mere caller kept +waiting. + + * * * * * + +“Now, what did he want to know that for?” Wilson mused, when Michael +reported the conversation to him as they sat at lunch. “It’s quite +obvious that he was trying unusually hard to pump you--but with what +purpose? What conceivable interest can he have in Meston’s financial +affairs? Or--is this a hint to me that I’m on the wrong track? I +think perhaps I’ve been neglecting the Warden-Hanborough aspect of +the thing. This wants looking into.” And he fell into a brooding +silence. + +“Have you got any further, this morning?” Michael asked. + +“No; I can’t say I have. I went up to Lockwood’s to have another +look at the prisoner; but he doesn’t seem any more talkative than he +was last night. He’s slept for fourteen hours, and agreed to demean +himself by taking food; so he’s in altogether better physical trim. +But it doesn’t appear to have loosened his tongue any, as the Yankees +say.” + +“Much the wisest thing for a murderer to do, to say nothing,” Michael +said. + +“Yes, but they don’t all look so pleased about it. He’s in an odd +mood altogether. Something has obviously happened to make him very +angry, not to say despairing; for even the Loring temper would hardly +account for his ferocious surliness. But at the same time there’s +a quite perceptible air that can only be called _exalté_--a sort +of Sydney Carton--‘It’s a far, far better thing’--if you know what +I mean; which hardly seems to fit in with hanging one’s rival. If +you’ve an odd moment, Michael, you might like to go up and have a +look at him. You can say I sent you as medicine man, and I’d like to +know what you think of your suspect in the flesh. Otherwise, there’s +no news, except that I’m waiting hourly for news of Mr. Potts. Ah, +there’s the good Colonel coming. This is probably it.” + +The Colonel had, it was true, seen Potts, and had brought along, for +what it was worth, the information he had secured. But, like most +of the information secured in the case, it did not advance matters +much. Potts, said the Colonel, had been very unwilling to talk at +all, being a surly and secretive man by nature. “He’s a queer-looking +customer, too,” the Colonel said. “Something like a talking gorilla. +I often think the man’s not quite right in the head, but he’s said +to be an excellent servant, and he’s certainly fond of the family. +I had to call in Godfrey to help, before he would speak at all.” +When he did speak, however, Potts confirmed the story of his meeting +John Loring and receiving the note for Mrs. Meston, which he duly +delivered. He had no idea, he said, what was in it. More than that +he either did not know or would not tell. He had not seen Mr. John +again, had not gone to the town that afternoon or evening, had not +seen Meston or held any communication with him or any one else. Had +not told any one of Mr. John’s return. Asked how Mrs. Meston looked +when receiving her note, he professed himself unable to remember. And +that, meagre as it was, was all the information which the Colonel had +been able to extract from the footman. No amount of questioning or +cross-questioning had been able to shake or vary his story. + +“And that’s that,” the Colonel finished, as he took his leave. +“Supposing the doctor’s suggestions are correct, we’re still no +nearer knowing how Meston heard that young Loring was in the place.” + +“Or how he got to the bridge--if he did.” Wilson was staring dreamily +in front of him. “Thanks, Colonel. Don’t be downcast. I admit it’s +not very satisfactory at present; but the only thing is to keep +pegging away. I’ve known worse cases.” + +“By the way,” said Michael, when the Colonel had gone, “Kershaw +apparently has a fancy he’s been burgled over the week-end, so +Brandreth tells me.” + +“Rubbish!” said Wilson. “He couldn’t. I looked over the place myself, +before I left, and there wasn’t a thing out of place.” + +“Except the bit of cocaine I took to examine,” Michael said. + +“No one could have missed that.” + +“Well, Brandreth said he thought so, anyway.” + +“That,” said Wilson, “proves either a guilty conscience or--special +information. By Jove!” he sat up, suddenly wide awake. “That decides +me. If he suspects burglary he may as well know about it--at least +what it was for. Yes, I think a little conversation with Dr. Kershaw +is indicated. No, Michael, I don’t want you. You’d put him off. You +amuse yourself; I shan’t be long.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + +Dr. Kershaw was in his surgery when Wilson was announced. He looked +up with a cold glance of hostility as the detective came in, and +Wilson noticed an additional shake of the long, nervous fingers that +were beating up something in a mortar. “He’s running his drug pretty +hard,” he thought. + +“What can I do for you?” Kershaw asked. + +Wilson held out his card. “My name’s Wilson, of the C.I.D.,” he said, +thinking that it was of little use to try to keep his identity dark. +“I’ve been requested by Colonel Lockwood to help him look into the +matter of the death of Mr. Meston.” + +“Why?” If Kershaw was alarmed, he was controlling it well. “Is there +anything wrong with his death? It looked to me like an accident, +but I may have been mistaken. I’ve heard nothing about it since the +inquest was adjourned.” + +“I understand that the police are not entirely satisfied to accept +the explanation of accident,” said Wilson, with his eyes on the +doctor’s face. “Particularly in view of certain events connected +with Mr. Meston’s life.” Kershaw made no sign, but waited for him to +proceed. “Can you throw any light, doctor, on anything which would +suggest a motive for any one putting him out of the way?” + +“I? No, I can’t. I barely knew the man.” + +“Yet they say you’d had a violent quarrel with him.” + +“Who say? Whoever it is, they’re lying.” + +“There’s some talk of a very acrimonious correspondence between you.” + +“Look here, Mr. Wilson,” said Kershaw, who had turned a greenish +yellow, and seemed very angry, “are you intending to bring a charge +against me? For if you are, I know enough of the law to know that you +ought to caution me formally before you try to make me commit myself, +and, if you aren’t, I’ll be glad if you’ll say plainly what you’re up +to!” + +“I’m not arresting you, Dr. Kershaw,” Wilson said, “and I should be +glad to avoid the necessity of detaining you in order to answer my +questions. There is a little information which I think you could +quite easily give me, and I’d rather get it in an amicable manner. Of +course, if you force my hand----” + +The doctor turned round and fidgeted for a little with his +test-tubes. “Well,” he said at last, “what is it you want to know?” + +“Did you, or did you not, have a quarrel with William Meston?” + +“We didn’t quarrel. He wrote me a very offensive letter--I suppose +that’s what you’re alluding to, though how you found out about it +I can’t imagine. But I didn’t take any notice. It was the sort of +communication that’s best left alone.” + +“What was it about?” + +A dull red spot rose on the doctor’s cheeks. “If you must know, it +was an insolent and unwarrantable attack on my private character. +Meston, as you’ll know for yourself if you’ve been looking into his +affairs, was a thoroughly unpleasant Paul Pry of a man--a kind of +preaching deacon in other folks’ lives. He saw fit to call my conduct +in question, and wrote me an entirely unfounded letter. If I’d done +anything about it, I should have called him out and taken a horsewhip +to him; but I didn’t. That kind of thing is best left alone, and +everybody knew what Meston was like. There wasn’t a word of truth in +it.” + +“I see. And then you didn’t have any more ill-feeling?” + +“I don’t know about feeling,” said Kershaw. “We weren’t on speaking +terms; and if his face was any guide, his feelings about me must have +been quite strong. But we didn’t have any row. As I’ve already told +you, I barely knew the man.” + +“I see,” said Wilson again. “Where were you on the night of his +death?” + +Kershaw gave a jump. “I? I was at a party at the Grange.” + +“Till when?” + +“Oh, some time after midnight, I think.” + +“Why did you leave?” + +“I had a case to go to. Midwifery.” + +“Billings, the cowman?” + +“Yes.” + +“What time did you get there?” + +“I’m not certain--some time between one and two, I think,” said +Kershaw, licking his lips a little. “I was delayed.” + +“What delayed you?” + +“I--I forgot some appliances, and had to go back for them.” + +“So that you went to your house twice, did you?” + +“Twice--yes. Once for my bag, and once for the things I’d forgotten. +That’s twice.” + +“On your bicycle?” + +“Yes.” + +“How far were you when you found you’d forgotten your appliances?” + +“Just by the bridge.” + +“And it takes you--say--five minutes to bicycle from the bridge to +your house. And from the Grange--how long?” + +“I don’t know--I’ve never timed it.” + +“Twenty minutes, perhaps. Or longer?” + +“I don’t know. I tell you I haven’t inquired.” + +“Even if we put it at half an hour, with a quarter of an hour for +your other goings and comings--still you didn’t get to Billings’s +cottage till an hour and three-quarters after you’d left the Grange. +Where were you in the meantime, Dr. Kershaw?” + +“Here,” said Kershaw. “I was--looking for things. I’d mislaid them. I +had to turn the whole place out.” + +“But when Billings’s boy came and knocked, you didn’t answer?” + +“No, I didn’t,” the doctor snapped. “I looked out of the window and +saw who it was, and I didn’t want to waste more time coming down +after him. These people think one’s a mechanism at their beck and +call--the fools!” + +“And that’s all you did?” + +“That’s all. Look here, Mr. Wilson----” + +“You didn’t by any chance call at the Old Malting House?” + +“No.” There was a gasp in Kershaw’s voice, but it sounded like a gasp +of relief more than apprehension. + +“Or see--anything remarkable?” + +“No!” No relief this time. The question had clearly been a nasty one. + +“And you’ve no notion or suspicion of how Meston came by his end?” + +“No! None. I tell you I hardly knew him.” + +“If that is so, Dr. Kershaw,” said Wilson, looking hard at him, “how +do you account for the fact that in the week after his death you +became unexpectedly possessed of a large sum of money?” + +There was no mistaking, this suggestion had gone very near the mark, +though what exactly the mark was, Wilson was not at all certain. +Kershaw flushed furiously, and looked as if he was about to spring on +him. + +“That’s no business of yours--and nothing whatever to do with +Meston,” he said eventually. “If you must know, a man paid me an old +debt, that’s all.” + +“And you used it?” + +“I used it as I commonly use money--to pay for what I wanted!” +Kershaw flashed back at him. “And now, Mr. Wilson, I’m a busy man, +and I think I’ve wasted about enough time. Unless you’ve any more +_pressing_ questions, I will wish you good afternoon!” + +“You haven’t any information that would help me, then?” Wilson said, +preparing to take his leave. + +“I have not. If I had I’d have given it to the proper quarters long +ago. Good afternoon.” And without any attempt to show the visitor +out, Dr. Kershaw returned to his mortar, and resumed his braying. + +“That’s a scared man,” Wilson thought, “if ever I saw one. But what +exactly is he scared of? Are we on the right track--or not?” He +looked round at the sunny peaceful afternoon. “I think a walk might +help to clear my mind a bit. Sorry, Michael”--he apostrophised his +absent friend--“but it can’t be helped.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + +It was a glorious day, rather warm, perhaps, for walking, but with a +cool breeze that just lifted the burden of the heat. Wilson strolled +out along the London road, and took the first favourable turn into +the field-paths. Now he was walking along a barely visible track by +the side of the smallest imaginable stream, half hidden in brooklime +and watercresses. In winter, no doubt, that small stream would spread +out subterraneously through the porous earth until the field through +which he was walking became simply a swamp, an enlargement of the +river’s source; but now the only trace of its wintry activities was +the slight dampness of the ground beneath his feet--a phenomenon +which merely served to make the walk pleasantly cool. On his right +was a copse of grey willows, knee-deep in moon-coloured cow-parsley, +and he stared at them vaguely, wondering how this odd, forgotten +county so near London could preserve such an air of the unearthly. +Even in broad daylight the grey grove might have held any amount +of ghosts of deserted ladies, and there was never a sound but the +faint undercurrent buzz of an August afternoon. Traffic, and modern +civilisation, might have been a hundred miles away; the road, as +Essex roads do, had turned off at a crazy right angle, away from the +direction in which it was nominally wending, and was now about its +business of turning east, west, north, and south at random in order +to get, after eight miles of meandering, to Little Friday--a village +which he, across the fields, would reach in half that distance. An +Essex road, Wilson reflected, got to its destination much as a river +does in other counties, and was as little fitted for traffic in a +hurry. A pleasant place still--for those without cars. + +At the end of the willow copse the straight way was blocked by one of +those curious cramped hummocks which make it absurd to speak of Essex +as a flat county. To avoid it--though it was not more than a hundred +feet high--Wilson crossed the little stream by a bridge of planks +and earth, and stood for a moment staring at a little backwater, if +a thing two feet across can be so described, which joined it just +there. The surface of the backwater was covered with an abundance +of duckweed, and Wilson remembered having heard some one say that +duckweed on the top always meant clear water below. In an idle mood +he pulled aside some of the weed with his stick and gazed down on +a dark, but perfectly clear pool, out of which his own reflection +looked serenely up at him. Was that an allegory of the Meston case? +he wondered, half-attentive. Were all these perplexing clues and +counter-clues only duckweed on clear water? and if he could once lift +them out of the way, would he see instantly to the bottom of the +problem? + +His mind turned back to Amory Kershaw and the recollection of his +last interview. That the doctor was alarmed, and alarmed with some +definite reason, was quite apparent. But what was the reason? He went +over in his mind the evidence against Kershaw. + +First, he was a doubtful character, a drug-taker, in low water +financially, and a man who held an appointment considerably less +good than his professional qualifications would have suggested. These +two facts were probably connected one with the other. Next, he bore +a reputation in his own neighbourhood that was not of the highest. +Wilson had not gone deeply into the general opinion of Kershaw; +but that letter of Meston’s could never have been written to a +strictly moral man. It was also interesting that Kershaw, on his own +statement, appeared to have lain down under its imputations. Wilson +did not for a moment believe the atmosphere of “too proud to fight,” +with which Kershaw had endeavoured to invest his conduct; and he +could only surmise that Kershaw had urgent reasons for not wishing to +have the matter out with his correspondent. + +All this was ancient history. Coming now to the actual circumstances +of the crime, the one really damnable thing against Kershaw was +that blow on the head--and his behaviour at the inquest. The fact +that he had suddenly come into funds whose source he did not wish +to explain might easily have no connection with anything Wilson was +investigating. A man with Kershaw’s character might receive money +from a dozen dubious quarters. It was a coincidence, of course, +and a suspicious one. But it need not be anything more. Nor was +his unexplained absence at a time which might have coincided with +Meston’s murder evidence in itself of complicity. His own explanation +of that might be correct--or he might have been drunk in a ditch. He +had been at a party at the Grange, and parties at the Grange, Wilson +surmised, would be provided with plenty of liquor. There was no sign +of any particular motive on his part for murdering Meston--nor of +any connection with John Loring, supposing the latter to be the major +criminal. The conglomerated effect of that evidence was not enough to +induce even the most biassed or muddle-headed magistrate to commit +him for trial. + +But the blow on the head! That was another matter. It had certainly +been inflicted after death, and Wilson’s trust in Michael’s powers +of observation was sufficient to make him take his word that it +had not been there when the body came ashore. If it was not there +then, it must have been inflicted afterwards; and nobody had such an +opportunity of inflicting it as Kershaw. But even supposing the most +unlikely thing possible, and that somebody else (either the murderer +or an accomplice) had succeeded in getting into the mortuary and +striking the corpse’s head, how on earth had Dr. Kershaw, a trained +medical man, failed to observe that the blow had been inflicted +after death? Even if he had managed to overlook that fact, any +reasonably careful examination must have disclosed the real cause +of death--indeed, unless Dr. Kershaw’s colleague was also privy to +whatever devilry was on foot, his concurrence in Kershaw’s medical +opinion could only be due either to compulsion or to his not having +been given the opportunity to examine the body for himself. + +But not only had Dr. Kershaw failed to observe these facts, he had +actually stood up at the inquest and promulgated a theory of the +man’s death which he must have known could not possibly be true. +And, up to the present moment, Wilson was glad to observe, all +the leakings of information that there had been did not appear to +have put Kershaw in possession of the true cause of death, or, +at any rate, of its discovery. Otherwise, surely he would have +shown more apprehension. Yes, Kershaw must, on any showing, have +knowingly concealed the real facts about the body. And why? It was +an extraordinarily dangerous thing to do. Of course, the man could +not have bargained for his own presence on the spot, and Lockwood +was fool enough and peace-loving enough for anything. But, in any +event, there was the other doctor; there were the police; and there +might have been any amount of inconvenient observers, jurymen, and +what not. Any one of these could have started a scandal whose only +end would have been ruin and penal servitude for Kershaw. He would +not have done it, then, unless he had an exceptionally strong motive; +either the saving of his own skin (if he were the murderer), or--or +what? Shielding some one? Who, and for what? Dr. Kershaw did not look +a man likely to be actuated by motives of pure philanthropy, and even +five hundred pounds, Wilson felt, would be an inadequate compensation +for the risk. But perhaps it was only a first instalment. “I think it +will be worth while having the fellow watched,” he said to himself, +“to see whether he gets any more, and if so, from whom.” + +One link in Michael’s reconstruction he felt had definitely failed +to hold good. He did not believe, from Kershaw’s manner, that he was +the man who delivered that assumed message to Meston in the dead of +night. In fact, he was inclined to think that the man had never been +to the Old Malting House at all. When questioned on that point, he +had seemed definitely relieved. Of course, this did not mean that he +had not sent the message; but that, if he had, some other hand or +mouth had delivered it. But whose? + +“Hullo, Harry!” At this point his meditations were interrupted by a +hail from above him; and, returning to the external world, he found +that he had arrived at the end of his journey. Before him the path +led through a cabbage-field and up the tiny hill on which Little +Friday was built; and at the top of a sloping meadow on his right +hand, Michael, with Mark Warden and Edna Loring, sprawled in the +sunshine, eating buns and smoking cigarettes. + +“Come up and have some tea,” Warden shouted. After a brief +hesitation, Wilson complied, and was soon seated beside them and +drinking a large cup of strong tea. + +“We got it at a shop in the village,” Edna explained. “But it was so +stuffy we couldn’t bear to drink it in the shop, so Mark made the +woman let us bring it out here.” + +“And very nice too,” said Michael, with his mouth full. “These folk +caught me up in the car as I was taking a solitary constitutional and +wondering where on earth you’d got to, and insisted on taking me for +a run.” + +“Bus needed airing,” Warden explained to the newcomer. + +“It hadn’t had a proper run since we quarrelled,” Edna added, +squeezing his arm. “But you’ll be glad to hear we’ve made it all +up, Mr. Wilson. I’ve apologised to Mark for interfering and being +a foolish female, and _he’s_ apologised for thinking I was one. So +everything in the garden’s lovely.” And indeed she looked as though +it was. “Tell them about it, Mark.” + +“Rot!” said Mark, who looked nearly as happy as his fiancée. “Mr. +Wilson doesn’t want to hear about our troubles. He’ll be as pleased +as Punch to know we aren’t going to bother him about them any more.” + +“But as I was in at the start, in a way,” said Wilson, “mayn’t I be +in at the death too? Or is it private?” + +“It’s not private in the least,” said Warden. “It’s just an enormous +weight off my mind, but I hardly thought that would interest you.” + +“Apart from anything else, if it’s connected with your financial +affairs, it does,” said Wilson. “You’ll remember at one time you +thought Meston’s death was the result of them, and Meston’s death has +been interesting me considerably lately.” He looked with an inquiry +at Edna, who shook her head. Wilson mentally gave her a good mark for +discretion. + +“Well, yes, that’s what it is about. And the good news is that it’s +all going to be cleared up directly. You know I was in the dickens +of a fuss when I came and called on you the other day, because I +thought we were all going to be in Queer Street, and I didn’t know +what had happened. I thought poor Meston must have made off with +the cash and then killed himself. Well, a day or two later it got +much worse, because that lousy little brute Strake--I don’t know +if you’ve come across him--came oiling up to me, and said he’d got +a lot of information he wanted to give me. I told him to take it +to Hanborough, who was his employer, and then he started on a lot +of greasy hints and suggestions out of which I gathered at last +what he meant, and that was that Hanborough and Meston had been in +it together, and that _I_ was the sucker not to have seen it. And +would I please pay double rates, and he’d pass the information on to +me--that was what it amounted to. Well, that was a bit thick, you +know--I don’t mean about me being a sucker, but to come there and +calmly try and sell me stuff against Hanborough because he thought +he’d get a bit more in that quarter. So as soon as I got his meaning +I sent him off in double-quick time, and told him that I wouldn’t pay +him a single halfpenny. + +“Then, you know, after he’d gone I began to have blue fits. First, +I began to wonder--you know the idiotic way one does--whether there +could conceivably be anything in it, and whether I really was the +greenest greenhorn in England. I began to think over all I knew +of Nick, and whether he could possibly be double-crossing me. And +I didn’t know--I just got more and more muddled. Then it suddenly +dawned on me that whatever I thought, I ought to have got to the +bottom of it, and at least gone and asked Nick about it. Because +I couldn’t expect that little blighter not to try and get what he +called his money’s worth out of the business, and there were probably +plenty of people, in a hole like this, who’d pay him money to get +hold of scandal about the Archbishop of Canterbury, if it came his +way. I went cold when I realised I was responsible for letting that +little worm loose in the place, with all his stories going bad on +him, so to speak; and I didn’t know what the hell I was to do. I went +mad for a moment. I rushed down to Steeple Tollesbury and tried to +find Strake, and make him cough up something, but he’d disappeared. +Then I tried to get hold of Nick and warn him what was afoot, and ask +him if there was anything in it, but I couldn’t find him either. And +Saturday night was the beastliest I’ve ever spent in my life, what +with wondering what on earth had happened, and still more what was +going to happen. + +“Then, to crown it all, I met Edna on Sunday morning, and she began +to tell me that everybody was asking questions about Nick, and, of +course, I thought it was all Strake’s doing. And somehow it seemed to +have got mixed up with Meston’s death, and I thought the next thing +would be that we should all be getting arrested. I really don’t know +what I said; I expect I was pretty hairy--Edna says I was, anyway. +But I’d only one idea in my head, and that was by hook or by crook to +get hold of Nick, and find out whether I was standing on my head or +my heels. So I dropped her----” + +“I believe you did it on purpose, pig,” Edna interrupted. + +“On my honour, I didn’t,” Warden protested. “I was more miserable +than ever when you’d gone. But since you had, I thought I wouldn’t +let things get any worse, so I buzzed off to Nick’s house. He wasn’t +in, but his wife was, and she said he’d faithfully promised to be +in that night, and would I wait. Well, I couldn’t wait, because I’d +promised to be back home, and they get into such a bait if I don’t +come; but I sat down and wrote him a letter, telling him, so far as +I knew it, all that Strake had been at, and asking him to let me +know what he meant to do about it. Then I buzzed home, feeling a bit +better, as though I’d done something at last, and this morning, +first thing, I got a letter from him.” + +“Saying what?” + +“Well, saying, in effect, that I’m not to worry, and that he’s got +it all in hand. I’d show it you if I’d got it,” said Warden; “but +I’ve left it in my other suit. He says, though, that he’s been pretty +well aware of what Master Strake has been doing all the time; and +that what he’s really found is traces of _his_ investigations into +where the money’s been going--Nick’s, I mean. Also, he apologises for +not letting me know sooner; he says he would if he’d guessed I was +worrying, and anyhow he was going to tell me it all in the next few +days, when he’d got his proofs complete. Anyway, he seems to have +got it all settled. He says it’s too long to put in a letter, but +it’s quite clear now who’s the guilty party, and it’s one of the last +either of us would have suspected. _And_ he’s made an appointment +with me at the office to-morrow--he says he’s sorry he won’t be able +to get there to-day--and tell me all about it. + +“I tell you, I never was so relieved in my life. I’d really begun to +think I must be going mad or something. So when I got this letter I +felt I must tell Edna, and I rushed up to the Grange with it, and we +decided we must celebrate. And we’d just done lunch when I ran into +Dr. Prendergast, and he agreed to come and celebrate too.” + +“So you haven’t put in an appearance at the office to-day?” Wilson +said, smiling almost in spite of himself at the two care-free faces. + +“Well--no.” Warden looked like a truant schoolboy. “I haven’t +exactly. I felt the occasion was almost worth a holiday, you know. +Besides--to tell you the truth, I shouldn’t have known how to face +the fellows there, knowing that one of them was a wrong ’un, and not +knowing which.” + +“Yes; I see it might have been awkward. Tell me, have you any idea +who is the guilty party?” + +“Not an atom,” Warden said promptly. “Ever since I got Nick’s +letter I’ve been racking my brains to think who it could be, and +I’m blowed if I can find the answer. _Everybody_ seems perfectly +impossible; in fact, if you’d asked me before, I’d have sworn I was +the most corruptible one among them. But there you are; I suppose +I’m ignorant of human nature. Of course, if Nick really meant what +he said literally--that it’s the last one either of us would have +suspected--I suppose old Davis fits the part best. But I simply can’t +believe it.” + +“Who is Davis?” + +“Head clerk and cashier. Been with us thirty years or thereabouts, +and the most devoted employee you could imagine. I should think +it would just about finish my father if----But, of course, it’s +nonsense. I only meant that he _was_ absolutely the last person you +could suspect.” + +“I see.” A silence fell--the silence of a warm summer afternoon. +Wilson lay with an unlit pipe in his mouth, his eyes half closed, +pondering upon the tangled duckweed of the Meston case. Warden’s +voice roused him. + +“I say, if I’m not being frightfully inquisitive, is it true what all +the gossips are saying--that Meston was murdered? Of course, if you +oughtn’t to say, or anything----” + +Wilson, after exacting the same promise as he had exacted from Edna +Loring, told him just what he had told the girl, namely, that the +police were not at all satisfied with the appearance of Meston’s +body, and were inclined to think that foul play might have had a +share in his death. “That’s why, you see,” he said, “we have been +rather carefully investigating the movements of every one who could +possibly have been concerned with him that Friday night.” + +“Yes, of course. By Jove,” Warden said suddenly, “it may be a good +job for Nick Hanborough that this money business is cleared up, since +Edna hasn’t got a proper alibi for him after all.” + +“Hasn’t she?” Wilson murmured lazily, with a warning glance at +Michael. + +“Not exactly,” Edna said. “At least, not as much as I told you +yesterday. I’d forgotten, when I said Nick was with us all the +evening, that he wasn’t there at supper. I ought to have remembered, +because he’d booked me to have supper with him, and when the time +came, I couldn’t find him anywhere. So I went in with the rest of the +crowd. He turned up again afterwards, and I clean forgot to ask him +why he’d cut me. That’s all. There’s nothing in it, is there?” + +“I shouldn’t think so,” said Wilson. “What time was supper, by the +way?” + +“About half-past twelve, as near as I can remember. Nick was back +again by half-past one, because I saw him. I don’t know where he was +in the meantime--unless he was with you, Mark?” + +“I didn’t see him,” Warden responded. “Of course you know _I’ve_ no +alibi either, if it comes to that.” He appeared to find the situation +humorous. + +“No. So I heard. Where were you, in fact?” + +“Wandering about. It’s quite simple, really. It was a frightfully hot +night for a party, and I’d a pain in my belly. Drink made it worse, +so I went out into the park to cool off----” + +“_And_ to get your temper back,” Edna put in. + +“Well, of course, if you _will_ keep on dancing with all the +blighters I can’t bear. Anyway, I ambled on right through the park, +and out into the road, without thinking much what I was doing, +and suddenly I found I’d got right down to Steeple Tollesbury. By +then I was feeling better, but I didn’t particularly want to go in +again, so I went up and got the car and went home. I didn’t say +good-night, because there didn’t seem anybody in particular there +to say good-night to. That’s what I did; but it wouldn’t sound very +convincing to a bobby, I dare say.” + +“No. I’m surprised you haven’t been asked about it before. But +perhaps you met somebody on your way--somebody who could swear where +you were at a particular time?” + +“I don’t believe I met a soul. It’s not a populous time of night. +Wait a moment, though--yes, I did. I met Kershaw.” + +“Who?” + +“Kershaw. Don’t you know him--the doctor who gave evidence at the +inquest?” + +“Yes, I know him. Only I thought he was at the party also.” + +“By Jove, I believe you’re right. Then he must have come away too. I +say, it sounds as if Godfrey’s drink had been a bit wonky, doesn’t +it?” Warden laughed. + +“Where did you meet him?” + +“Right down in Steeple Tollesbury, by the bridge. He was wheeling his +bike across it.” + +“How did you know it was he? Did he talk to you?” + +“No; in fact, he didn’t look much as though he wanted to speak to +any one. How I saw him was that just as he came along I thought +I’d like a pipe, and I saw his face in the match. He looked pretty +green, I thought--almost as if he’d seen a ghost; and he just said +good-evening and pushed on. But he must have seen me, so I suppose +he’d be able to say so. Not that it would help much,” said Warden, +recollecting, “would it? For I suppose Meston, if he was croaked, +must have been getting croaked somewhere about there at the same +time.” + +“Possibly. Which way was Kershaw coming, do you know?” + +“Up from the tow-path, as far as I could see.” + +“Do you know what time this was?” + +“Half-past one, almost exactly. I looked at my watch then, and +thought I’d better be getting back. But I didn’t see a sign of Nick +anywhere.” + +“I say,” Edna said, “if we’re going to get any dinner, hadn’t we +better start somewhere? There won’t be anything fit to eat here.” + +“Let’s make a night of it, darling. Run up to Romano’s and do a +theatre. Won’t you come too?” said Warden hospitably. But this +invitation the friends refused, and set off to return to their inn on +foot. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + +“I hope, for his own sake, that Mr. Nicholas Hanborough _has_ got a +satisfactory explanation of the financial affairs of his firm,” was +Michael’s only comment on the afternoon’s proceedings. “You observed +that he and Kershaw were apparently simultaneously absent from the +party at the Grange at exactly the critical time?” + +“I did. Our suspects seem to be crowding round the body again, don’t +they? I wonder if your friend Mackenzie was there too. Hadn’t you +better inquire?” + +“I wonder whether Kershaw could have been mixed up in the financial +business?” Michael suggested hastily, having detected what he thought +a tinge of irony in his friend’s tone. “Do you think he was, and that +_he_ was the ‘last man one would ever have suspected’?” + +“No reason against; no reason for,” was Wilson’s opinion. “We shall +have to wait. Perhaps to-morrow will bring us some fresh light.” + +It did, but not exactly of the kind which Michael, at any rate, had +anticipated. They had not long finished their breakfast when there +was the sound of a car tearing across the bridge. It stopped at the +hotel; there was a murmur of voices below; and in another half-minute +the chambermaid knocked at the door and announced, “Mrs. Meston to +see you, sir.” As before, the owner of the name followed it into the +room. + +She had changed enough in the three days since he had seen her +last, to have satisfied even Michael’s vindictive Puritanism. She +was very pale, so pale that the rouge on her cheeks was worse than +useless, and she was breathing hard, as if the normal supply of air +were insufficient to keep her going. Her grey eyes, dark-circled, +darted from side to side, as if she feared a new attack from almost +any quarter. But her lips were firmly set, and she came to business +without beating about the bush. + +“Mr. Wilson,” she said, “is it true that you’ve arrested John +Loring?” Wilson intimated that it was. + +“On the charge of murdering--my husband?” + +“On the charge of being concerned in his death.” + +“He wasn’t! It’s a lie! You know it’s a lie.” Wilson said nothing, +waiting to see what was coming next. + +“He couldn’t have been, because--because----Is it true that Lockwood +asked him where he was on that night, and he wouldn’t say, and that’s +why he’s been arrested?” + +“Mr. Loring,” Wilson said, “has so far declined to give any account +whatever of his movements.” + +“But you know where he was. Don’t you? Can’t you guess?” She looked +up at him with an appeal. + +“I don’t deal in guesses, Mrs. Meston. If you know, you had better +tell us, hadn’t you?” + +“He was with me. That’s why he wouldn’t say. He was with me.” Her +fingers were gripping the back of a chair so furiously that all the +blood had left them, and her underlip was drawn in. + +“May I ask where?” + +“By the river. You know Sir Felix Lewis’s grounds. There’s an old +boathouse there, by the old bridge. It’s used as a summerhouse +sometimes. That’s where we were.” + +“What were you doing?” + +“Oh, talking, and talking--and being fools, as usual. We quarrelled, +you see.” + +“Were you--alone?” Something in the tone of the question seemed to +strike Sylvia. + +“Alone--why, of course. It wasn’t the sort of meeting we’d invite our +friends to.” + +“You were alone all the time?” + +“Yes--yes. Haven’t I said so?” + +“How long were you there?” + +“I don’t know. It felt like hours. I suppose it might have been an +hour, really, or a bit more.” + +“From when, do you know?” + +“Twelve o’clock, or a little bit later. We’d arranged to be there at +twelve.” + +“Did you go there together?” + +“No, John was there first. He sent me a note to the Grange to ask +me to meet him there at midnight. So I shammed sick, and didn’t go +to the party. Instead, I got out the Rover, and went down to the +boathouse, and he was there waiting for me.” + +“Did you go away together?” + +“No. I went away first. I left him.” Sylvia said the last words +almost solemnly. + +“And you saw nobody while you were there?” + +“No, of course not. There was nobody to see. Oh, do you mean there +_was_ somebody?” + +“At any rate, you saw nobody. What did you and Mr. Loring quarrel +about?” + +“Oh, the usual thing.” Sylvia shrugged her shoulders bitterly. “John +and I always quarrel. Ask Brandreth--ask any one. You don’t want me +to tell you all over again, do you?” She looked up; but, at Wilson’s +inexorable face, looked down again. “Oh, well, if it’s part of the +show----You know, if you know anything at all about our crowd, that +John was my lover a long time ago, before I was married. I ought +to have married him, then. God knows why I didn’t, except that I +was born a fool, I think. Anyway, I was having a jolly good time +then, and I didn’t see why I should stop it all just to marry John. +It would have meant stopping it all, you see--John didn’t make any +bones about that. He’d have wanted me all to himself, and I didn’t +see it. We quarrelled like cats about it, only we generally made up. +Then, one day, we had a worse quarrel than usual. John got absolutely +wild--and if you haven’t seen John furious you’ve missed one of the +sights of the world--and practically told me I could choose. I could +marry him at once or never see him again. Of course, that put my back +up, and I told him he could go to hell for all I cared, and I’d marry +him just when I pleased and not a bit sooner. So he went off in a +rage, and I stayed here and cursed him. I thought, of course, he’d +come back in a day or two and we’d make it up again. But the next +thing that happened was that Godfrey called me into his study, and +explained in his beastly fatherly way that John had gone to China, +and was never coming back to England, and that _he_ was responsible +for me now, and--oh, God! such a lot of stuff. It makes me sick to +think of it. + +“I was absolutely furious with John for doing such an idiotic thing. +And I couldn’t bear to hang around, living on Godfrey’s money and +with his paws all over me. So I thought the best thing I could do was +to marry William and get out of it. Oh, it’s all very well to sneer, +Dr. Prendergast,” she said, turning upon him, “but I should like to +know what you would have done?” + +As Michael prudently refrained from taking up this challenge, Sylvia +went on after a pause. + +“Anyway, I _did_ marry him; and I’m not going to tell you just how +much of a mess that was, because I know Brandreth has. Of course, I +didn’t know what he was like, and besides, I didn’t know till I’d +tried how much I cared for John--damn him! We went on, somehow, and +I never saw John again till the night William--died. And I suppose +it’s that night you really want to know about, and you’re only just +putting me through this---- + +“I got John’s note just before dinner. It was just asking me to +meet him--nothing else; but it made all the difference. Wallace +Burden--you know him--had been bothering me to go off with him, +and one way and another I was absolutely fed up. Then, suddenly, +there was John--in England. Fortunately, I’d already told Godfrey I +wasn’t going to turn up at the party--I’d had enough of his damned +parties to last me a long time. So I just said I wasn’t feeling well, +and slipped off to my room. I knew by the time I came back--if I +did--they’d all be too drunk to bother where I’d been. And, anyway, I +didn’t mean to come back. I knew John must have come to take me away, +and I meant to go as soon as he asked me. + +“So I went. I was a bit late getting off, because I met Brian +Mackenzie mooning about the grounds, and I couldn’t get away from +him. But at last I got off and down to the river, and found John +there. It was all right for a bit”--Sylvia’s eyes for one moment +grew dreamy with recollection--“then--I’m damned if I know what +happened. Somehow John began cursing me for marrying William--as if +I needed telling what a fool I’d been, and anyway _he_ hadn’t had to +put up with the consequences. Anyway, I lost my temper and answered +him back, and he began to tell me just what he thought about my +character. I suppose he’d had time to think it all out, in China; and +he didn’t waste any of it. John never was exactly what you’d call a +polite lover, Mr. Wilson. At last I told him I’d had about enough of +it; and he said, if I felt like that, he was sorry he’d ever come +back to England, and I could stay with William and be damned. We went +on that way for a bit, and at last it ended by my telling him I was +going back to bed at the Grange and he could do what he liked. So +I went. He didn’t try to stop me; he didn’t even help me start the +car, though it had sunk in the leaves and I could hardly get it out. +He just stood the other side of the river and looked. I half thought +he’d follow me, even then; but he didn’t. So that’s where he was--and +that was absolutely everything that happened. Why he couldn’t +have told you himself I don’t know, but John always was a damned +fool--like me. And--will you let him go, please?” In her desperation +her appealing glance even included the obdurate Michael, who was, as +a matter of fact, trying to make up his mind whether this was only +remarkable acting or the real truth. + +“My dear Mrs. Meston,” Wilson was saying in a very gentle voice, “if +Mr. Loring is innocent, no one will be better pleased to let him go +than I shall. But----” + +“But what? What are you talking about, may I ask?” + +“Mrs. Meston, where was your husband that night? While you were +meeting Mr. Loring, I mean?” + +“I don’t know. I’ve not the slightest idea. I didn’t know anything +about what he was doing. What do you mean?” + +“Suppose,” said Wilson slowly, “suppose he was there too?” + +Sylvia Meston stared at him with horrified, yet fascinated eyes. +“There? Where? Why? Oh, my God, you can’t mean that! How appalling! +But he _wasn’t_ there, Mr. Wilson! He couldn’t have been. You’re +telling lies--trying to frighten me. Aren’t you?” + +“I didn’t say he was,” said Wilson. “I only want you to realise that +your statement does not of itself clear Mr. Loring.” + +“But--I don’t know what you mean. William was killed here--at the +bridge. Wasn’t he? How could--any one up at the summerhouse have had +anything to do with it?” + +“He wasn’t necessarily killed where he was found, Mrs. Meston. +In fact, the probabilities are that he was not killed there, but +somewhere up the river. Suppose it was at the summerhouse?” + +“Oh, Christ!” The girl was as white as a sheet now, and swaying as +she clung to the chair. It seemed a miracle that she did not faint. +“I’ve been making it worse for John all the time! I tell you he +didn’t do it! He didn’t! Oh, what can I do to make you believe it?” + +“Come now, steady,” said Wilson, laying a hand on her wrist. “Sit +down, and let’s talk it over quietly.” He guided her to a chair, +where she sat almost like a person in a trance, biting her fingers +and staring desperately at him. “You won’t do anything with +melodrama. Nobody wants Mr. Loring to suffer if he isn’t guilty, +and I for one will pledge my word that he shall have the fairest +chance I can give him. I will even tell you that he made a favourable +impression on me, and that, in spite of certain black appearances, +I’m at present willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.” + +“He didn’t!” Sylvia repeated. “It’s a lie--it must be lies.” + +“But if he didn’t,” Wilson said, “and if you lose your head, you’ll +only make them look blacker still. Do you understand that, and are +you prepared to be sensible?” + +Sylvia looked up sharply. “Do you mean you don’t believe what you +said just now? Was William there, or wasn’t he?” + +“That, Mrs. Meston, is exactly what I am trying to find out, if you +will be so good as to help me.” + +“Was he killed there? Not by here?” + +“That also has to be investigated. And I want you, instead of trying +to shield people and behaving, if I may say so, like a fool, to +try and pull yourself together. Are you fit to answer one or two +questions, and to answer them truthfully?” + +A flash of resentment showed itself in Sylvia’s face, but died away. +“Ask them,” she said. “I’ll answer--if I can.” + +“First, then--Why did you come to me in the first place?” + +“Because I thought William had been murdered--I told you so.” + +“Why were you so certain?” + +“I told you. Because I knew he couldn’t have killed himself--you +would too, if you’d lived with him. And I didn’t believe in its being +an accident. Nor did Brandreth. You know he didn’t.” + +“But--excuse my pressing you--why were you, in any event, so anxious? +If he was dead, surely that was sufficient for your--purposes?” + +“You talk as though I’d killed him,” said Sylvia listlessly. “I +didn’t. I didn’t _want_ him killed. And I thought, if anybody had +killed him--it was only fair--to him--that somebody should find it +out. I don’t suppose you’ll understand--but that’s the truth, all the +same.” + +“Who did you think it was?” + +“I didn’t think it was anybody.” + +“Didn’t you? Then why were you so alarmed at the idea of Colonel +Lockwood’s arresting the wrong person--when you first came to me, I +mean?” + +“You’re very observant. It did just flash through my mind, then, +that--well, if anybody knew John had been about, they might think all +sorts of things.” + +“But you didn’t?” + +“No, I didn’t! If I had, should I have asked you to go on?” + +“And then you asked me to stop. Why?” + +“Well, I should have thought that was obvious. I heard you were +after John--and that you’d been up at the summerhouse--and that +somebody had seen John at the cross-roads; and I didn’t know what you +would do next. So I asked Godfrey, and he told me I’d been a fool, +and it was most likely suicide, and I’d better choke you off before I +did any more harm. So I wrote to Brandreth--I thought that was better +than writing direct to you. But I meant him to show you the letter.” + +“So I gathered,” said Wilson dryly. “And then you ran away. Where to? +And why?” + +“I went to John. At least, I meant to, only he wasn’t there. Godfrey +gave me his address, but he’d had an accident, you know, and had +never gone home. It took me ages to find out where he was.” + +“And why did you go?” + +“Why, to tell him not to come back, of course!” said Sylvia, opening +her eyes wide. “And besides, if I wasn’t there, I thought you +couldn’t ask me questions. Then I found that Weaver, whose house he +was in, and he told me what had happened. So I came back.” + +“I see. When, and why, did you fetch your property from Colchester in +Mr. Burden’s car?” + +“Oh, Lord, do you know that too? It was--Wednesday week, I think. I +thought--I might be going to go off with him.” + +“Had you told him so?” + +“More or less. You have to say something to Wallace, sooner or later, +or he won’t stop talking.” + +“But you didn’t?” + +“Why, John came back,” said Sylvia, with complete naïveté. “I didn’t +know he was in England.” + +“Did you--er--convey this fact to Mr. Burden?” + +“No. But he didn’t need any facts conveyed to him. He took himself +off the moment he thought there was going to be a row. Before the +inquest, even,” said Sylvia scornfully. + +“I see. Why didn’t you tell us all this before, when you first came +to consult me?” + +“I didn’t want you to know it,” said Sylvia. + +“Well, you see I do. And perhaps you can take in that it would have +been much better if you’d told me yourself in the first instance. If +anything would make me believe in Mr. Loring’s guilt it is the web of +inefficient lying with which you have tried to surround him,” said +Wilson severely. + +“I----” Sylvia looked up indignantly, but suddenly gave up the +attempt. “I think you’ve got me on toast, Mr. Wilson, so I won’t try. +Anyway, I haven’t said a word that isn’t true, this time.” + +“Oddly enough, I believe you,” said Wilson. “It may also interest you +to know that I have corroborative evidence, in the form of a piece +of your evening-frock which you tore on a nail in the boathouse.” He +produced it from his pocket-book. After a pause, the figure in the +arm-chair emitted a weak little giggle. + +“Do you know,” it said, “you make me feel rather a fool.” + +“That,” said Wilson, smiling cheerfully, “was my intention. And now, +will you answer one last question? Is Mr. Loring, as far as you know, +a friend of Dr. Kershaw’s?” + +“_Kershaw’s?_ No, not that I know of. Kershaw’s always about the +place, but I never heard of John having anything to do with him.” + +“Was he--a friend of yours?” + +“No, thank you,” said Sylvia emphatically. Michael noticed that she +seemed quite to have regained her composure. + +“Nor in love with you?” + +“I hope not! I don’t like baboons.” + +“Was Mr. Hanborough?” + +“Nick? No, indeed. Nothing of the sort. Do you think I’m a honeypot, +Mr. Wilson?” + +“I think you’re rather a violent and wrong-headed young woman,” said +Wilson. “But I’m in hopes that we may be working on the same lines +at last, if you’ll remember that, in my view, truth pays best in the +long run.” + +“I’ll try,” Sylvia promised, looking dangerously meek. “But, Mr. +Wilson, can’t I see him?” + +“Mr. Loring? Oh, I dare say that can be arranged,” said Wilson, “if +you behave yourself.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + +Wilson did not show any great anxiety to discuss the bearings of the +last interview. The morning paper arrived just as Sylvia Meston had +gone, and he spent some time reading it in a desultory manner, with +occasional lapses into brooding. At last he looked up. “You know, +Michael,” he said, “I’m inclined to think that that young woman was +telling the truth.” + +“If that’s so,” Michael said uncharitably, “it must be the first time +on record.” + +“Very possibly. Which perhaps gives it all the more weight. If she +is, of course, it rather knocks the bottom out of your Loring-Kershaw +reconstruction, doesn’t it?” + +“It doesn’t necessarily clear John Loring, even if it is true,” +Michael said. “He might have committed the murder after she went +away.” + +“And after he went away himself, you mean. He couldn’t have done it +in between, because, in the first place, he hadn’t time, and in the +second, our friend Machin was watching him, if you remember. So that +involves his going away, picking up Meston somewhere in his car, and +murdering him--all as a deliberate plot, laid in advance. It doesn’t +sound likely, and further, I doubt whether he’d really have had time. +It’s a little uncertain when he left the bridge, but the police have +been making inquiries into his accident, and it was only half-past +two when he ran into the other car.” + +“What did happen, then?” + +“I only wish I knew! I wonder if young Weaver notified Godfrey Loring +of his brother’s accident, by the way, or if he found out by chance?” + +“What difference does it make?” + +“Just an idea of mine,” said Wilson. “Thank you.” The maid-servant +had just brought in a letter sent round by hand. Wilson read it +through twice, with his eyebrows going up. Finally he handed it to +Michael, with a shrug. It was a note from Colonel Lockwood, and it +merely stated that a silk rope, knotted, had been found hidden in +the leaves just by the old boathouse. With a smile almost of pity, +Michael handed it back to his friend. + +“This is a topsy-turvy case, isn’t it?” he said. “Just when you +think you’ve cleared John Loring, there turns up a piece of nearly +conclusive evidence against him. That is, unless you think there were +two ropes.” + +“That’s hardly likely,” Wilson admitted. “But no--this is impossible! +Sorry, Michael, I want to think it out.” + +“You might think just how good an actress a woman can be,” Michael +suggested nastily, but could not pursue the matter, as he was just +then summoned to the telephone. When he came back, all thoughts +of Sylvia Meston had left his mind, and his face was strained and +anxious. + +“That was Warden, Harry, on the ’phone from Colchester,” he said. +“He’s very anxious for me to go over there at once--and you too, if +you can spare the time.” + +“What’s the matter?” + +“Hanborough’s levanted. He didn’t turn up to his rendezvous this +morning, and sent a note saying he was clearing out.” + +“I can’t say I’m surprised.” + +“Nor I. But he’s apparently admitted a whole lot of things which may +or may not have a bearing on this business. The police are in the +Colchester office now, and Warden very much wants me to hear what +they’ve got to say. He didn’t want to tell me any more himself over +the ’phone. But I thought you might think it worth while to come too.” + +“Perhaps it is.” Wilson got out of his chair. “Anyway, it’s probably +more useful than sitting puzzling one’s brains here. I want some +time to go and see that rope; but I think I’ll leave it till I know +a little more what I want to find. We’d better go by car, I should +think. Will you go and see about one, Michael? There’s a job I have +to do first.” + +As Michael left the garage, having bargained with it for the +immediate use of its fastest vehicle, he met Brandreth ambling along. +The little lawyer looked more debonair than ever, and he greeted +Michael with a twinkle and an amiable good-morning. + +“Let me congratulate you--or, rather, Mr. Wilson--on your +discernment,” he said. “Sylvia has just been telling me her young +man’s not going to be hanged after all.” + +“Mrs. Meston is a little premature in her conclusions,” said Michael +sourly. “As far as I recollect, Wilson only told her that she made +matters much better for him when she consented to tell the truth!” + +“Aggravating girl, isn’t she?” said the aggravating little man. “I +must say it says much for your fair-mindedness that you’re able to +admit when she’s speaking the truth. It’s a pity Kershaw can’t see +that.” + +“Can’t see _what_?” said Michael, thoroughly bewildered. + +“Your essential fair-mindedness. He thinks you’re out to hang him, +you see.” + +“And wouldn’t that be fair?” + +“Don’t be prejudiced, doctor. Of course it wouldn’t. Kershaw’s +manners may not be pretty, but he never killed Meston. What on earth +would he have gained by it, do you suppose? And if you weren’t too +proud to listen to gossip, as I do, you’d have discovered long since +that Kershaw never does anything unless he stands to gain something +by it!” + +“Why does he need to gain such a lot?” + +“Oh, that’s a different question, isn’t it?” said Brandreth. “You’d +better ask him. Well, I won’t keep you. You’ll tell Mr. Wilson what a +meddlesome old nuisance I am, won’t you?” + + * * * * * + +“That man’s like a revolting Greek chorus, always turning up and +moralising where he isn’t wanted!” said Michael, when they were +seated in the car. “What on earth was he up to then, I should like to +know?” + +“Giving us a hint, I should say.” + +“What on earth about?” + +“Why, about Kershaw’s motives. It may be useful yet.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + +At the Colchester office they entered upon a scene of funereal +excitement. The place was not, indeed, closed; but in the outer +lobby there was only one small, distracted boy, who was obviously +dreadfully ill-used at being deprived of his colleagues’ society. +Within, there was a sort of subdued bustle. Two plain-clothes +police-officers were methodically going through books and +correspondence, aided by a distressed old fellow whom Michael guessed +to be the faithful Davis. Two or three other clerks buzzed in the +background. One of the latter took Wilson and Michael through into +the inner office, where they found Inspector Bille, very calm and +official, sitting in an arm-chair with a large notebook open on his +knee, while Mark Warden, all yesterday’s confidence gone from his +face, strode restlessly up and down in front of the fireplace. + +“Thank God you’ve come!” he said, as the two friends appeared. “This +is appalling. Hanborough’s gone!” + +“So I heard,” said Wilson, after greeting the Inspector. “Clean gone? +Definitely run away, I mean?” + +“I should say so,” the Inspector chuckled. “Read his letter, sir; +it’s on the table there.” Wilson took it and read it carefully. + + “DEAR MARK,”--it ran--“I’m sorry to tell you that I can’t keep + our appointment for this morning; and more sorry that I can’t + make another. The fact is, I’m throwing in my hand, and I hope + and believe that this is the last you’ll hear of me. I apologise + for leaving things in such a mess, but the truth is, it’s the + fault of your friends, the police, for getting so inquisitive. If + they’d let me have a little longer run I could have cleared it + all up; as it is, I’m afraid you’ll have difficulty in dealing + with Coxwell. The papers are in my desk, of which I enclose the + keys. It’s not an easy one to open, and it’s a nice piece of + furniture, so it would be a pity to knock it about. + + “By the way, I shall have to leave Strake on your hands too. + I’d square him if I could, but I want every bit of cash I’ve + got. I don’t suppose you’ll have much to spare, either, but if + anybody has an odd five-pound note it would be an act of charity + to give it to him. He’s really had a rotten time, full of good + information which nobody would pay him for. With regrets and + apologies, Yours, + + “NICHOLAS HANBOROUGH.” + +“I’ve never had the pleasure of conversing with Mr. Hanborough,” +Wilson said, looking up, “but I should guess that this was rather a +characteristic letter, isn’t it?” + +“Like his impudence, you mean, sir,” said the Inspector. “It is. Very +like.” + +“How did it get here?” + +“By post this morning. It was sent off by the afternoon post +yesterday. Must have been sent just before he skipped.” + +“He has skipped, then?” + +“Oh yes. Went off yesterday afternoon. We’ve tracked him to the +coast, and there are two or three boats he might have got a lift on. +At the moment we don’t know which, and none of them has wireless. But +I think we’ll get him.” + +“And do his effects throw any light on your problems?” Wilson asked +Warden. + +“As far as we’re concerned, they explain the whole thing,” was +the gloomy reply. “It was all his doing. He’d been systematically +converting the funds to his own use--must have been doing it while +Dad was still there, that’s _my_ only comfort in the business. And +that poor devil Meston was getting on his tracks. What we’re going to +do now I can’t think. We’ve no possibility of meeting Coxwell, who +wants to withdraw his account next week; and, of course, if he goes +others will follow.” + +“I see,” said Wilson, referring again to the letter, “that he says +that if he had been given a few days’ more grace, he could have +put the situation right. Is that correct, do you know? or merely +gambler’s optimism?” + +“Both, I should say,” said Bille, taking up the tale. “As far as we +can make out, he was expecting to get in some cash directly, and that +would have staved off the immediate collapse. How long he could have +kept it up is quite another story, of course, sir.” + +“Then why did he throw his hand in? Was it Warden’s suspicions?” +To an intelligent listener, Wilson’s tone would have betrayed a +doubt that an experienced swindler would have lost his nerve at the +prospect of an interview with Mark Warden. + +“Yes, and no. You see, sir,” Bille explained, “it wasn’t exactly +what Mr. Warden thought, that he was afraid of. He didn’t mind about +the misappropriation, because--if I may say so--he’d pulled the +wool over Mr. Warden’s eyes once, and he’d pretty well reckon he +could do it again. But it was one or two other things Mr. Warden let +slip--about inquiries you and your friend were making about him--that +hung on to some things we and the Colchester police had been finding +out, and that put the wind up on him.” + +“You mean,” put in Michael excitedly, “about his whereabouts the +night Meston was killed?” + +“That, and other things.” The Inspector obviously intended to have +his money’s worth out of his sensation. “We’d an idea where he was +that night. But, more than that, there was the question of what he +did with the funds he’d embezzled. We were pretty certain what it +was, but we couldn’t just find any way of fixing it on him.” + +“And it was?” + +“Drug-running, sir. Cocaine, principally; and other stuff as well. +He’d a pretty big clientele hereabouts, but very difficult to come +at. And it was with his makings on his last lot that he reckoned +to clear off these impending troubles. But he took fright when he +got Mr. Warden’s letter, and went off without them. However, we’ve +got our evidence now; and when we catch him, he’ll be for it, sir, +without a doubt.” + +“Colonel Lockwood told me nothing of this,” Wilson wondered. It was +indeed inconceivable that Lockwood should have kept so exciting a +secret to himself. + +“When I say we, sir,” the Inspector amplified, “I should have +mentioned it was the Colchester force handled it. It was their +business, really. We only came in because Hanborough was planting his +stuff outside the city boundaries. In fact, I’m not sure that the +Colonel really knows very much about it. You see, sir, he’s pretty +well acquainted with most of the parties we’ve suspected, and it +might have been difficult for him.” The Inspector’s opinion of his +superior’s discretion could not have been more delicately conveyed. + +“Such as Kershaw, eh?” Wilson suggested. The Inspector seemed +pleased, if not astonished. + +“You’ve that for a fact, sir? I’ve suspected it for some time, but +I can’t say I’ve any proof. For an open-handed, free-spoken man, +Hanborough was extremely cautious. It’s been remarkably difficult to +come on his trail. If you’ve any proof, sir, I should be very glad if +you’d let me see it.” + +“You shall have it when you want it,” Wilson promised. “Meantime, +perhaps you can help me on one or two points. Do you know whether +Meston had any of this--side-line of his partner’s?” + +“I couldn’t say, sir. There’s nothing in what we’ve found to show one +way or the other. Mr. Meston, unfortunately for himself, was a very +secretive man. He put hardly anything in writing, and what he had, I +think Mr. Hanborough got. He had first access to his papers after his +death, you see, sir.” + +“There was nothing, as far as I remember, in the stuff found at +Steeple Tollesbury?” + +“Nothing whatever. And it’s the general belief, and I don’t see much +reason to doubt it, that whatever he was doing before, the reason he +went to Steeple Tollesbury was just the obvious one--to get at his +wife. He was much stronger about her than about the firm, sir. Bit +touched, in my opinion,” said the Inspector. + +“And when he left it?” + +“Who’s to say? May have been going to end it all, for aught anybody +knows. Guessing’s not much good, sir.” + +“It is not,” Wilson sighed. “_Was_ Hanborough anywhere in particular +that night, when he’d disappeared from the Grange, do you know?” + +“Yes, sir, he was. He was with Sir Felix Lewis’s gamekeeper, fixing +up business with him. He must have been rather put to it, to choose +such a suspicious time; but I suppose he thought he wouldn’t be +missed.” + +“Oh! And where did he meet this gamekeeper?” + +“At his cottage. He lives alone in a little place a couple of miles +up beyond the old bridge. The cottage stands all by itself, close to +the river, and there’s a path to it from the tow-path.” + +“Oh!” Wilson digested this piece of information for some time; then, +to Mark Warden’s relief, turned back to the matter in hand. For some +time they discussed the effects of Hanborough’s flight on the firm’s +affairs, Wilson endeavouring to administer a little consolation +to the young man. Then Inspector Bille looked at his watch, and +announced that he must go. + +“Are you going back to Steeple Tollesbury?” Wilson asked. “If so, +perhaps we can give you a lift. Our car’s outside, and we shall just +get back in time for some lunch.” The Inspector accepted gratefully, +and they piled in. Wilson and the Inspector exchanged a few +commonplaces on the affairs of the Warden firm. + +“Is it your opinion, sir,” Bille asked, “that these two affairs are +connected--I mean this and the murder? I notice you’ve got your eye +on Hanborough’s whereabouts that night?” + +“I can’t say,” said Wilson. “Of course, we appear to have provided +him with an excellent motive for making away with Meston--supposing +we can prove that the latter knew anything of his activities. But you +say we can’t. Then I confess I don’t quite see Hanborough, little as +I know him, in the rôle of hangman. Do you?” + +“No, sir,” the Inspector agreed. “But folk act strangely when they’re +up against it.” + +“Still,” Michael put in, “the man couldn’t have been murdered all +along the river bank. This cottage, I think you said, is two miles +above where the rope was found?” + +“The rope!” There was a sudden note of excitement in Wilson’s voice. +“I’d nearly forgotten the rope. Have you seen it, Bille? What was it +like? And where was it found?” + +“It’s a silk rope, sir,” said Bille, puzzled, but obliging. “Quite +an ordinary kind of silk rope, I should say--though they’re not very +common. We’ve got a man now trying to find out where it came from. +It’s a good length--thirty feet or so--and it’s been knotted tight, +and cut, just as you would if you’d strangled a man and then cut him +down. I should say almost certainly it was the rope that was used to +hang him. The Colonel’s having the fibres tested--I don’t know if +that’ll prove anything, of course.” + +“And where was it found?” + +“Not thirty yards from the boathouse, sir, along by the tow-path, +just inside the woods, in a heap of dead leaves. Just by the stump of +an alder. It’s queer how our people came to miss it, being so near +the place.” + +“It is indeed.” Wilson’s eyes were shining with a curious inward +light. “And how did they come to find it now?” + +“They didn’t, sir. It was Potts, the man from the Grange, brought it +in.” + +“Potts?” + +“Yes, sir. I understand he was taking a walk along the tow-path with +his young lady, and sat down on the stump. Then he was kicking his +heels about in the leaves, and it came to light. So, having heard +something about strangling, though Lord knows how he did--that place +is a whispering gallery--he brought it along to the station.” + +“And when did he do that?” + +“This morning. It was last night he found it. Does it suggest +anything, sir?” + +“It’s just possible--only just. But _something’s_ queer about this, +at all events. Would it inconvenience you greatly, Bille, if we took +the Grange on our way back? I want to make an inquiry or two about +that rope, and it won’t keep.” + +The Inspector making no objection, he gave the word to the chauffeur, +and for the rest of their drive remained sunk in a deep cogitation, +which Michael knew better than to interrupt. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + +Wilson roused himself, as they swept up the drive of the Grange, +to comment, like Michael before him, on the extreme danger of that +narrow entry; and found that Bille, unlike Edna, was a whole-hearted +sympathiser. “It ought to have been widened years ago,” he agreed. +“Would have been, too, but that Squire and his father were both +chairmen of the Bench. One of these days there’ll be a bad accident, +and then I suppose something will be done about it. Do you want to +see the Squire, sir?” + +“Not if I can help it,” Wilson replied. “In fact, I want as little +fuss as possible. I just want to have a few words with Potts, and +then get away. Perhaps you’d better stay in the car, Bille, if you +don’t mind. You’re probably a bit too well known hereabouts, and Dr. +Prendergast can do any necessary introducing. There’s just a chance +that Potts may open the door.” + +As a matter of fact, the last-named eventuality actually did occur. +But Wilson’s hope of getting his interview without disturbing any +other member of the household was doomed to disappointment; for, even +as they stood in the doorway preparatory to stating their business, +a door on the far side of the hall opened suddenly, and Dr. Kershaw +bounced, more than walked, out, his method of exit suggesting rather +strongly that he had been assisted from behind. As he staggered into +the hall, the face of the Squire, bearing a sardonic grin, appeared +in the open doorway. Seeing the little group at the front door, he +came forward, with a change of expression. Kershaw, whose face was +livid with emotion, appeared not to see them, but on hearing Godfrey +Loring’s footsteps, turned, and all but shook his fist in his face. + +“Very well,” he said, “I shan’t forget.” + +“I hope you won’t,” the Squire replied. “You might also remember that +it isn’t altogether healthy to get thrown out of here.” He laughed. +“Hullo, doctor, what can I do for you?” + +At these words Kershaw, whom the penultimate sentence appeared to +have reduced almost to a fit of apoplexy, turned sharp round, and, +seeing Michael and his companion, made a sudden rush for the door. He +nearly knocked over the footman as he disappeared down the steps. + +“May I introduce my friend, Mr. Wilson?” Michael said. Godfrey Loring +raised his eyebrows politely, but said nothing. + +“Good afternoon, Squire,” said Wilson. “I’m really here on false +pretences--it should be Colonel Lockwood. He understands that one of +your men found a rope down by the old bridge last night, and there +are just one or two points about it he wants cleared up, if I could +see the man. It won’t take more than a couple of minutes.” + +“Certainly. Potts!” Loring called to the footman. “Do you want a +private conversation? If so, my study’s at your disposal.” + +“There’s no reason you should not hear every word, Squire,” Wilson +said carelessly, and somewhat to Michael’s surprise. “But perhaps we +needn’t inform the world, though the point’s of no great interest.” +He passed into the study, followed by Loring, Michael, and the +footman. A whisky decanter and glasses were set out, and Loring +offered drinks, helping himself when the others declined. Meanwhile, +Michael gazed at Potts, whom he had not seen before. The footman, he +decided, was not prepossessing, though it was with an animal, rather +than a criminal, ugliness. He was of the gorilla type, with long +arms, low brow, a prognathous jaw, and a heavy crop of black hair; +and Michael wondered at the taste which should select such an object +to open the door to its visitors. He seemed phenomenally stupid. +Michael could not conceive how cross-examination could get any useful +information out of him, and waited with all the more interest for +Wilson to begin. He was proportionally disappointed to find that +Wilson elicited nothing whatever beyond the story they had already +been told by Bille in the car, and, indeed, hardly seemed to try. He +only established, perhaps a little more exactly, the position of the +stump by which the rope was found, and then thanked the footman, and +indicated to the Squire that he might be dismissed at once. + +“You’d never seen the rope before, I suppose?” was his parting +question. + +“Not that I know, sir,” said the footman, as he disappeared. + +“That all right, Mr. Wilson?” said Loring. “Case getting on nicely?” + +“So-so,” said Wilson. “It’s a long job. We’re holding your brother, +you know, for the present.” + +“So I heard,” said the Squire. “Dashed inconvenient for him, poor +chap. I suppose you’ll have done with him soon?” + +“I’m afraid I can’t say, at the moment,” said Wilson gravely. “When +did you hear of his accident, by the way?” + +“Some time the next day--Saturday,” was the reply. “Weaver--the +fellow who picked him up--rang up and told me.” + +“But you didn’t tell Mrs. Meston, did you--when she went off to find +him?” + +“No, I didn’t.” The Squire took a long drink. “I wasn’t aware that +that came into the case, but if it does, I don’t mind telling you +that I didn’t tell her deliberately. You know what Mrs. Meston is, +and she had thoroughly gone in off the deep end. I’d just half a +suspicion at the time--knowing my brother--that if he _had_ managed +to run across Meston while he was here, there might have been +trouble, and I thought the less she poked her nose in it, the better +for all concerned.” + +“Then you knew he’d been in the neighbourhood?” + +“Yes. Potts told me he’d seen him.” + +“Didn’t you expect him to turn up here?” + +“Hadn’t the slightest idea,” Godfrey Loring said. “John don’t exactly +love the home of his ancestors, you know; and when he left it he +didn’t bless the threshold. I supposed he’d turn up if he wanted to, +and not otherwise.” + +“Thank you. Can you tell me one other thing? What were you and Dr. +Kershaw quarrelling about?” + +“Well, I’m damned! Aren’t you being a trifle personal, Mr. Wilson? +What’s it got to do with you?” + +“If I tell you that Dr. Kershaw is under grave suspicion of being +connected with a--financial scandal, which we are anxious to clear up +with as little publicity as possible, will you tell me, Mr. Loring?” + +Loring took another drink. “Oh, if it’s a criminal matter--I don’t +mind. There’s nothing in it, anyway. Kershaw merely wanted to borrow +some money off me.” + +“For any particular purpose?” + +“I’m afraid I didn’t ask. Kershaw’s always hard up, more or less, and +always sponging on his friends. I don’t know if that helps you.” + +“Did you lend it him?” + +Loring smiled. “From his expression as he left the house, I should +have thought you would have gathered that I did not.” + +Wilson smiled back. “Have you often let Dr. Kershaw have money?” + +“Nary a once. I’m not quite a fool,” was the reply. + +“Well, thank you very much. I’m very much obliged to you, and I need +not take up your time any longer,” said Wilson, getting himself and +Michael out of the room. Shepherded by the Squire, they passed down +the steps and out to the car, where Inspector Bille was awaiting them +rather uneasily. + +“I say, sir,” he said, “while you were in there, Dr. Kershaw passed +out, with a face like nothing on earth, and rode off hell-for-leather +on his bike. In view of what you were telling me awhile back, don’t +you think we’d best pass the word to the station to keep an eye on +him? We don’t want him to get off.” + +“I’ve already warned them,” Wilson soothed him. “I don’t want him too +closely watched, because I thought he might give somebody else away, +if he was frightened and left at large. But I think you’ll find that +your people have got their eye on him.” + +“Hang-dog sort of fellow that Potts is,” said Michael. “It was a pity +the Squire turned up just when he did. It stopped you getting any +more out of him. I suppose you didn’t want to press him in front of +his master?” + +“I didn’t,” said Wilson. “And I didn’t want to alarm him either. But +I got what I wanted.” + +“_Did_ you? I didn’t think you got anything fresh.” + +“I got from his own lips the statement that he found that rope by the +alder clump.” + +“What’s the importance of that?” + +“Only this,” said Wilson, his eyes dancing, “that I went through +that pile of leaves myself with a tooth-comb on the afternoon of the +inquest, and there was no rope there then.” + +Inspector Bille gasped, and his jaw dropped. “Why, then--then----” he +said, and stopped, for Wilson had ceased to listen. + +“I _know_,” he was saying to himself--“I _know_ the answer’s just +under my hand. Wait a minute.” And he relapsed into silence; but just +as they reached Steeple Tollesbury he almost sprang to his feet. + +“Bille,” he said, “do you happen to know what the bottom of the Toll +is like by the Old Malting House? Is it all mud, I mean?” + +“All mud, I think,” said the Inspector. “No, bless my soul. That’s +where the piers are.” + +“Piers? What piers? And where are they?” + +“Jutting out into the river just by the Old Malting House. There used +to be a stone quay there, but it’s gone years ago, and there’s only +these two piers left. They’re about eight feet down, covered with +mud themselves now. I’d forgotten about them till you asked me.” + +“Just so. Thank you. I believe, Michael--I’ve been a blind fool, but +I believe I see daylight.” + +“What’s the idea?” Michael asked curiously. + +“Do dead bodies float or sink, Michael?” + +“Float, generally,” Michael said. “But what----” + +“And that dead body was in the river five days, and no one saw it +floating! I think we’d better test this quickly.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + +Wilson’s next moves were totally incomprehensible to Michael. Indeed, +at first he thought his friend had gone mad. Dropping the Inspector, +with only the barest of leave-takings, at the police-station, he +ordered the chauffeur to drive to the bridge over the Toll, and +stopped the car on the farther side. There he got out, and hurried +down the slope leading down to the tow-path, just as Michael, nearly +a week ago, had hurried to bring first aid to Mr. Meston’s corpse. +There he stopped and surveyed the land. + +“Look, Michael,” he said, pointing at a small building which stood +a little way back from the tow-path, and perhaps two hundred yards +up-stream, “that’s Joe Billings’s cottage. If you were coming to it +from Kershaw’s house, which way would you go?” + +“Why, along here, I suppose, would be the quickest. Unless there’s a +path through those sheds,” said Michael. Immediately to their left, +and covering most of the ground between Billings’s cottage and the +bridge[2] was a patch of waste ground half filled with some derelict +warehouses. + +“No, there isn’t. You have to go quite a long way round by the +road, and then down a cart-track. Yes, this is the way he must have +come. And, mark you, it’s just here, or rather, just on the bridge, +that your friend Warden met him, at 1.30, _coming back_ from the +tow-path. But at that time, we know, he hadn’t been to Billings’s. +What is more, he didn’t arrive there till nearly half an hour later. +Where had he been? And, more important, what was he doing in that +half-hour?” + +“I don’t know,” said Michael. “I thought he’d been along the river, +helping to murder Meston. If he hadn’t, I don’t know where he’d been. +And what he was doing afterwards I haven’t an idea. Perhaps he really +did go to fetch his appliances.” + +“Perhaps. But on the whole I don’t think so. Let’s consider now +what there is on the other side.” Michael looked across and saw +nothing but the calm stuccoed side of the Old Malting House, with the +reflections of the water chasing themselves about its base. + +“Those two are the windows of Meston’s room, aren’t they?” Wilson +said. “The one next them is passage, I fancy. Below, there appears +to be only a tiny one. The wall hasn’t any windows that end. What is +there below?” + +“Billiard-room,” said Michael. “The tiny one is a boot-cupboard, or +something, I think.” + +“Just so. Quite so. See any traces of those piers?” Wilson asked, +bending to look down into the water. + +“No. But you wouldn’t, anyway, from this side. The reflection’s too +strong, and there’s a little loose weed at the bottom. Besides, Bille +said they were covered with mud.” + +“That’s true. I think we’ll go and find Wason, and see if he can +locate them for us. All right, driver, we shan’t need you any more.” +And Wilson paid off the chauffeur, and led the way at a smart trot to +the Old Malting House. + +They found Wason without much difficulty, and with even less, drew +him into conversation on the subject of the piers. “Thar’s only +foundations left now and they mud-covered,” he said. “Ye’d never seen +them without ye knew they were thar.” + +Wilson asked exactly where they were, and received the information +that one was directly below the first window of Meston’s room, and +the other three or four yards up-stream. He made no comment, though +Michael could tell that the answer had satisfied him, but began to +put questions about the exact point in the river at which the body +had turned up. Neither Michael nor the landlord, however, could +recollect with sufficient accuracy to please him. + +“Why don’t you ask Bill Sayers?” Wason said at last. “I reckon he’ll +know, if any one does, seeing it was he fished carpse up.” + +“Where can I find him, do you know?” + +“As it happens, he’s in my bar this very moment. But he ain’t +talkative. You’ll maybe have to have one with him.” + +Two minutes later, having followed the landlord’s advice, Wilson was +plying the uncommunicative mariner with questions. With considerable +difficulty, he at last elicited that neither Bill nor Jarge, though +they had been keeping a good look-out, had seen anything of the body +until they actually felt it foul the tug. Then, as Jarge had said, +the convoy had nearly stopped altogether, and Jarge, seeing the +corpse’s face “way down in water,” had called to Bill to pull it out. + +“What do you mean by ‘way down’?” Wilson asked. “Wasn’t the body +floating?” + +“Naw, she warn’t. She were three or four feet down, an’ I couldn’t +’ardly reach her. Caart under barge, likely,” said Bill. + +“And then you pulled the body in with the boat-hook? Did you notice +anything particular about it?” Wilson asked. “Did it seem heavy, for +instance?” + +Bill had found it heavy, and said so with sudden and uncharacteristic +loquacity. It appeared that at the first attempts the corpse had +declined to move at all, had, indeed, nearly pulled him overboard. +“Thought I’d a-hooked barge,” he said. “She held on and she held on +like mainland o’ Scotland. I sez to Jarge, me arms is a-going, I sez; +then all of a sudden she comes away like, and I hauls her in.” + +“As if it had suddenly come loose from something, eh?” + +“That’s right, mister,” Jarge agreed. “Like a daisy, she come when +she did.” + +“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know. Now can you tell me the +exact spot where the body was floating?” + +“That I can’t, mister, seeing ’twas under barge, and we was about +mid-stream. But when I sees her, she was a-poking-up near side of +barges, just along of Wason’s place, abouts. If ye’ll come through +and look through th’ window, I’ll show ye the ’xact spot.” + +Wilson came, and followed closely the indications given by Sayers’ +grimy thumb. As far as he could see, the body had been found almost +exactly above the first of the sunken piers. + +“Thanks,” he said, dismissing Bill with suitable gratuities. “The +next step,” he said to his other two hearers, “demands Colonel +Lockwood’s presence. I think I’ll go up and find him. You stay about +a bit, Wason. We may want you.” + +“What do you want Lockwood to do?” Michael asked, as they went off. + +“Drag the river,” was the answer. + +“Why, there aren’t any more bodies there, are there?” + +“I don’t anticipate finding any,” was all Wilson would say. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[2] See endpaper map. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + +They found Colonel Lockwood disposing of the remains of an excellent +lunch; and even in his excitement Michael found time to regret that +Wilson had apparently forgotten all about a midday meal. He took +the Colonel aside for a few minutes’ conversation, as a result of +which the latter left the house rapidly in the direction of the +police-station, while Wilson and Michael returned to the inn. + +“We can’t get at the piers any way but by water, can we?” Wilson +asked the landlord. “Then we’d better have your boat ready. There’s +a party from the station coming along directly with a drag-net.” +Michael used the interval to fortify himself a little with Wason’s +extremely good beer. + +In a very short time the party, which consisted of the Colonel, +Sergeant Linton, and two policemen with the net, arrived on the +tow-path, where the boat was waiting for them. Wilson, with the +landlord and the two policemen, climbed in, while the others watched +the proceedings from the bank. For a little while the boat manœuvred +about, Wason giving the exact bearings of the old pier, while Wilson +peered over the side into the clear water. + +“See that, waving about among the weeds down there?” the watchers +heard him say at last. + +“It’s a mighty thick weed,” Wason agreed. + +“That?” one of the policeman said; “that ain’t no weed. That’s a +rope-end.” + +“Precisely. That’s what I’m after, I think. Heave to, will you? And +give me the boat-hook.” + +After two or three tries, Wilson succeeded in getting the boat-hook +to catch in the rope, and then began pulling on it gently. It did not +move. He tried again and again, using a little more strength each +time, but still the rope did not budge. + +“Maybe it’s fastened to the pier,” Wason suggested, offering to +assist. But Wilson declined. + +“We mustn’t break it,” he said. + +The drag-net was next called into play. “Be very careful,” said +Wilson. “There’s something down there, on the pier, I think, which I +want to get up. But if you knock it off into the mud, we shall never +get it again. Go at it gently.” + +For a few minutes the drag-net was manipulated to and fro. Then one +of the policemen gave an exclamation. “That’s got something!” he +said. “But we can’t move it,” he added a moment later. “It’s far too +heavy for the net.” + +“Stay just as you are,” Wilson commanded. He drew a long, straight +wire from the bottom of the boat, and began to probe for the object. +“I’ve got it. Now, pull _hard_ for a second--stop! It moved,” he +announced, bringing back his wire. “But how the devil are we to get +whatever it is into the boat?” + +There was a moment’s pause for consideration, while Wilson surveyed +the land. “Somebody’ll have to go down for it, I’m afraid,” he said +at last, “and tie a rope round it, and maybe we’ll be able to haul it +in. I’ve got a coil of rope here. Do you know of any one who can dive +a bit?” he asked the policemen. + +“I can, sir,” one of them said. “I don’t mind going down. But I +don’t think you’ll get her in, sir, not without you capsize the boat, +and you’ll lose her again.” + +“Strikes me,” the other grumbled, “what you’re trying to pull up’s a +bit of the old pier.” + +“It isn’t,” Wilson said. “It moved. But I’m not sure you’re not +right,” he said to the first policeman. “And we can’t risk losing it. +I think,” he added after a moment’s pause, “the best way will be to +fix on ropes and haul the thing in at that window,” pointing to the +window of Meston’s room. “Then we’ll be able to see what it is. I +suppose it won’t pull your wall out, Wason?” + +“That it won’t,” Wason said. “That wall’s a foot thick and more.” + +“Then what we want,” said Wilson, “is plenty of strong rope. We’d +better land and look for it.” + +The preparations took some little time, but eventually some stout +rope-ends were hanging out of the window, while Michael, the Colonel, +and the sergeant stood in the room prepared to haul. Wilson stood +at the window, and Wason remained below directing operations, while +the volunteer diver began to remove his clothes. “I’ll go down and +have a look round first,” he called up to the window. His colleague +meanwhile collected the ends of rope in the boat, which Wason +was balancing over the indicated spot. In another moment he had +disappeared over the side. + +The watchers at the window craned their necks, but could see nothing +beyond bubbles and a stirring of mud from the river-bed. In a few +seconds, however, the diver reappeared, spluttering and brushing +water from his eyes. “It’s a big trunk,” he gasped. “I got hold of +it, but it won’t move an inch.” + +A trunk! Absurd visions of buried treasure floated across Michael’s +mind; but Wilson seemed completely unmoved. “Anything to fasten the +ropes to?” he asked. + +“Oh, aye, that’ll be easy enough. It’s got good strong handles, and +plenty of room for fastening ’em. Give me a couple of them ropes.” + +Down went the diver again, and this time it seemed hours before he +reappeared, announcing that he wanted another rope for safety’s +sake. This was supplied, and after a little more delay he brought up +the news that the trunk was now ready to be hauled in. He climbed +back into the boat with some difficulty--“Easy on the rope!” said +Wason--and after a perfunctory rub-down began resuming his clothes. + +“Ready?” asked Wilson from the window. + +“Half a minute, sir, till we get the boat clear,” was the reply. + +After a long and wearisome pull the watchers could see something +gradually approaching the surface of the water. In a series of +lurches it came to light, and disclosed itself as a large tin trunk, +covered with mud and waterweed, and trailing from it a broken length +of cord. “Sakes alive!” Wason cried, nearly capsizing the boat in his +excitement. “If that isn’t the missus’s old tin trunk from the loft! +How in Christendom did that get to the bottom of the river?” + +At this point there was a muffled curse from inside the room, and the +trunk redescended with a jerk into the water. Turning to see what had +happened Wilson observed the sergeant standing up and indignantly +rubbing lacerated hands. “We shan’t get it in this way,” Colonel +Lockwood said. “There isn’t weight enough among us. Better get my +fellows in.” + +“Right,” Wilson said. “Let her go again, gently. Now then,” he +called, “you in the boat, you’re not wanted any longer there. Come +round and help haul.” A roar of laughter directed his attention to +the bridge, where an interested crowd had collected. “Oh, and clear +the bridge, will you? We don’t want an audience. Linton, you’re the +lightest weight; you go out and keep the place cleared. We can do +without you, I think.” + +His instructions were carried out to the letter, and at length, after +a terrific haul, during which they more than once nearly lost it, the +trunk became visible above the window-ledge, Wilson fending it off +from the wall. “Now, then, last pull. Mind the window! That’s done +it.” All stood up and mopped their brows as the trunk at last came to +rest on the floor of Meston’s room. + +“What on earth do you suppose is in it, to make it that weight?” the +Colonel asked. + +“Shall we look?” Wilson said. He began to tug at a double rope which +was wound about the trunk’s middle. Sodden by the water, the knots +refused to budge and had to be cut. Then, while all held their +breath, he slowly raised the lid. Michael, looking over his shoulder, +gave a sigh of disappointment. + +The trunk was full to the brim of a ramshackle collection of pieces +of rusty metal, apparently parts of some disused machine. Wilson +unpacked these and disclosed beneath them something which gleamed +like marble, and on being lifted out turned out to be a piece of +sculpture representing a lady in a classical posture, with nothing +on. A similar lady followed her, and left the trunk empty. “God bless +my soul!” said Colonel Lockwood. + +Wason stared at the figures, and scratched his head. “Well, I’m +damned!” he said. “If those aren’t the statues I turned out of the +coffee-room because the missus said they wasn’t decent! They’ve been +up in my loft these fifteen years, and I never give them another +thought. But what the dickens would anybody want to put them in a +trunk for?” + +“That’s quite simple,” said Wilson. “The murderers overdid it a +little, or we shouldn’t have had all this trouble. But the whole +thing’s nothing more than a weight used to sink the body.” + +“The body!” + +“Meston’s body,” he added. + +“What! Then you mean,” the landlord said, “he was killed here, in +this house, and thrown out of window wi’ that trunk tied on him?” + +“That’s what I mean, more or less. See here.” Wilson picked up the +loose end of rope which had been floating in the river. “This has +been broken. If you joined it on”--he brought the end close to +another which protruded from a knot--“you’ll see it made a loop. And +that loop’s about the size of a man’s waist measurement. What clearly +happened is this. The murderers tied the trunk to the body, and sank +it in the river. But it fell on the old pier, which caught the trunk +and left the body to float freely at the end of the cord--that is, +about three or four feet below the surface. Nobody saw it--it’s not +in the main stream--until our friend Jarge, who I suspect must have +got a little out of his course, fouled it with the tug. The blow +knocked it sideways, and he then saw the face in the water on the +near side of the barge. When Bill hooked it, I judge from his account +he must actually have got his hook in the rope itself, so that when +he tried to pull it in, he was really pulling on the whole weight of +the trunk. Naturally it wouldn’t come, until Bill, who is a pretty +hefty fellow, succeeded in breaking the rope--you can see where it’s +frayed. Then, of course, the body, being released from the trunk, +came up ‘like a daisy,’ as he said, and they got it on board.” + +“Good God!” the Colonel said. “You mean the devil strangled him +first, and then drowned him with the trunk round his waist! What a +diabolical thing! And if it hadn’t been for you we should never have +known!” + +“If it hadn’t been for the pier,” said Wilson. “If the trunk hadn’t +happened to land directly on the pier it would have buried itself in +the mud at the bottom, and it is ten thousand to one that neither +it nor the body would ever have been seen again. The murderer or +murderers owe their failure to a lucky--for him an unlucky--chance. +If they had been able to avoid that pier----” + +“They’d have got away with it,” said Michael quietly. + +“They may yet, easily enough,” Colonel Lockwood said gloomily. “It +doesn’t seem to me we’re much nearer knowing who they were.” + +“One step at a time,” Wilson reassured him. “We’ve got some data, +anyway. We know that they had to choose this particular place.” + +“Well, that’s natural,” Wason said. “It’s just below Mr. Meston’s +window.” + +“And below something else, I think. Where did you say this stuff came +from?” + +“Out o’ the loft above.” + +“Where is the loft? I didn’t know you had one.” + +“Above this room, in the roof. Ye can’t see it from below, sir, but +it and this room, they was both part of the old grain store years +ago, when this place was a malting house. There warn’t any ceiling to +this room then, it went straight up to the rafters. Then my father, +when he took it, he put a ceiling in, so’s to make a room of the +bottom part, and turned the top space into a loft. That’s a matter +of forty or fifty years ago, and we don’t use it for nothin’ now but +lumber. But it’s thar all right.” + +“How did you get up to it?” Wilson asked. “I haven’t seen a stair.” + +“It’s behind a door, sir, just at the end of the passage that goes to +your room. It’s the old stair that used to lead up to the platform +they had to steady the sacks when they hauled ’em in from the grain +barges. There used to be a crane of some sort in the gable to fetch +’em up; but my father, he took it down.” + +“Then the loft’s our next place of call,” said Wilson decidedly. +“Leave this trunk where it is, and lock the billiard-room door.” + +“You know, Michael,” he said, as they mounted to the first floor, “I +ought to be shot for not having thought of that before.” + +“Damned if I know what you’ve thought of now,” Michael said. + +“I mean the weight,” Wilson explained. “It did occur to me, when +I first heard your story, that it was odd that nobody should have +noticed the body sooner, and I wondered whether it could have got +caught in weed somewhere. When I saw it, however, I realised that +there wasn’t enough weed on it for that to be true. Then that tree, +and John Loring’s tryst, came in to confuse the trail, and I never +so much as thought of the corpse having been tied to something till +I realised this morning that whatever had happened couldn’t have +happened at the old bridge.” + +“Why couldn’t it?” + +“Because of the rope,” said Wilson enigmatically. “Here we are.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Dust and grime notwithstanding, it was a picturesque place into which +they stumbled when they had made their way up the steep staircase. +Huge rafters, of seasoned and blackened oak, spanned it, and from +under the rafters, as they entered, half a dozen disturbed bats flew +out and began to circle dismally round their heads. Two birds in +noisy alarm dashed themselves violently against the sloping roof, and +eventually, after some battering, made their way out through a broken +skylight. This skylight, with another equally encrusted with dirt, +provided all the light there was in the loft, save for a thin streak +outlining what appeared to be a door in the riverside wall; but it +was sufficient for them to see an odd collection of miscellaneous +objects of all sorts, piled up anyhow on the floor, and all half +buried in a thick layer of dust. Desolation could hardly go further. + +“It’s in pretty much of a pickle,” the landlord said, surveying it. +“You see, nobody comes up here nowadays. It’s months since I’ve +been in the place myself. Every now and then I shove away something +that’s not wanted, same as I shoved those statues; but, barring that, +there’s no call to come here. ’Tisn’t worth while to keep the place +clean.” + +“But somebody’s been up here recently, all the same,” said Wilson, +“or the trunk couldn’t have got down. Tread very carefully, all of +you, so as not to disturb any traces. Walk along the outside beams. +Hullo, here we are.” He pointed out some footprints which were +plainly visible in the thick dust. “Almost as good as sand, for +keeping traces. We’ll have a drawing of those in a minute. But this +is rather odd.” He straddled from one beam to the next, and stood a +moment staring at the prints. “I can’t understand this. But we can’t +do much without more light. Is that a door over there?” + +“Aye,” said Wason. “It’s in the gable--used to give on to that +platform I told you about. Do you want it open, sir? I’ve got the +key, but I doubt it’s stuck fast.” + +“Why couldn’t I see the door from the outside?” Wilson asked. “I was +looking at the inn from across the river just now, and there wasn’t a +sign of it.” + +“It don’t show from the outside, sir,” the landlord said. “When I +had that wall stuccoed three years back, I let ’em carry the stuff +right across the old door. There’s nothing but a line shows each side +it now, and you’d never see that if you didn’t know ’twas there.” +As he spoke he inserted a rusty key, which turned with surprising +readiness, and gave the door a push. It opened immediately and with +such ease that if Wilson had not grabbed him by the coat-collar he +would have fallen into the river. “Whew-w!” said Wason. “That was a +narrow shave. Thank you, sir. But the last time I opened it, it was +as stiff as----” + +“It’s been oiled since then,” said Wilson. “Feel those hinges. That +suggests somebody has found a use for it quite recently. Well, at any +rate we’ve got a bit of light on the situation.” He turned to survey +the floor of the loft, on which the flood of light from the open +door threw the footprints into strong relief. “See the mark where +they dragged the trunk across the floor, Michael? But I think our +principal concern is with the door.” + +He crossed to its narrow sill, and stood looking out. Just above his +head projected the stout beams of the little gable, and immediately +below, breaking the sheer drop to the water, was the coping of Mr. +Meston’s window. “Supposing,” he said, “a man were leaning out of +that window, and supposing some one standing here dropped a noose +over his head, and began to haul on it----” + +The Colonel gave a shudder, but Wason remained sceptical. “They +wouldn’t ’a’ got him up,” he said stolidly. “He’d be too heavy to +pull out o’ window. Ain’t no leverage here.” + +“But you said they used to pull up sacks here--heavy sacks,” Michael +objected. + +“Oh, aye, sacks. But sacks weren’t stuck in a window. Besides, they’d +a crane in the gable. But my father--he took it down. It was only a +big pulley, properly speaking, and he was afraid it’d get rotten and +do some one a mischief falling on the barges.” + +“The pulley may have gone,” Wilson said, leaning precariously out +over space, while Michael moved to his side and held on to his +coat-tails; “but something’s been in that gable not so long since. +I can see screw-holes--new ones. Keep a hold, Michael. I’m going +farther out. Wait a minute.” He swung back to safety, and drew a +two-foot rule from his pocket. “Now.” He leant out as far as he +dared, and with the rule in one hand and the other gripping the +gable, began making measurements along the wood. Then he closed the +rule and dropped it back into the loft. “Got a knife, somebody?” +he asked. Wason opened his pocket-knife and handed it across. “No +good,” said Wilson, after a minute’s scratching on the woodwork. +“It’ll fall down. Fish in my trouser-pocket, Michael--no, the other +one--and you’ll find my knife. If you open it, there’s a little pair +of pincers in the head.... Good.” He leaned out still farther, and +with a jerk of the pincers removed something from the woodwork, and +placed it in his mouth for safety. “All serene. Coming in,” he said; +and with Michael’s aid swung back into the loft. + +Still standing on the sill, he drew from his mouth a strong screw, +and exhibited it in the palm of his hand. “That’s what we call a +‘clue,’ Mr. Wason,” he said. “Now, have you got a wheelwright in the +town, or any one who does odd wood-turning jobs?” + +“Goodyear, in Strangers’ Alley, up along High Street, does most of +that kind,” Wason said. “There’s one or two others does odd jobs; but +Goodyear, he’s known.” + +“Well, then, Colonel, I wonder if you or one of your men could do +a job for me. I want to know if Goodyear at any time during the +last month made or fitted up a pulley and pulley-blocks for this +gable. Of course he won’t have known that it was for the gable; but +here are the dimensions of the pulley”--he had torn a sheet from +his pocket-book and began scribbling busily while he talked--“and +this is a rough diagram of where the screw-holes were. The timber +was three-quarters of an inch exactly, grooved for a slender rope, +and this is one of the screws that were used. You can take it as a +pattern. If Goodyear hasn’t made anything of the sort, try all the +other people you can think of until you find out who has. Only it’s +got to be done as quickly as possible, or our friends, whoever they +are, will get to know about it, and decamp. Do you mind?” + +“I’ll go myself,” said the Colonel, taking the sketch. He bustled +off, looking very important. “Mind the footprints!” Wilson called +after him. + +“While’s he’s gone,” Wilson said, “we’d better examine this place +as carefully as we can. There may be other traces. Have either of +you men got flashlamps? Good. Then you go off into the dark end, and +examine that thoroughly. But for goodness’ sake don’t disturb any +of the traces we’ve already got. Linton, will you be measuring and +drawing the footprints very carefully. I think you’ll find there +are three sets, apart from some smudges; but I can’t be sure till +they’re measured. Make a plan of how they lie, too--all those you can +distinguish. There’s a bit of confirmatory evidence here, Michael, +for what it’s worth,” he went on, looking out of the door again. “See +those marks in the stucco just below? They’re fresh scratches; and +they were made, I suppose, by the trunk as it went down, or by his +feet as he came up--probably the latter.” + +“Ugh!” said Michael, retreating. He did not like sheer drops at the +best of times, still less drops where men had been hanged. + +“There’s some cigarette-ends here, sir,” one of the constables said. +“Nothing else that I can see.” + +“Pick ’em up,” said Wilson. “I don’t suppose they’ll tell us much, +but we’d better have all we can get. Look out, Michael, there’s +something shining by your foot. Hullo! This is an odd thing to find +in a loft.” In his hand lay a tiny, but blazing emerald. “Come out +of anything of yours, Wason?” + +“No, sir, nor of the missus’s,” the landlord said, with emphasis. He +was staring at the brilliant little jewel as if it troubled him. + +“Know whose it is?” + +“Couldn’t say, sir.” + +“Well, if you do, or if you find out, you’ll know pretty well who the +murderer is,” Wilson said. “How are you fellows getting on?” + +“Nearly done, sir,” one of the constables replied. “There’s a lot +of junk here in this corner, that’s a bit awkward to get round. +Something’s fallen down, I think, just lately, by the dust. Yes, it’s +this box. Lend a hand, Freddy, and we’ll have it up. Holy snakes!” + +“What’s the matter?” Without speaking, the man held up a long coil of +fine silk rope. + +“Well,” said Wilson, “what of it? The man was hanged, wasn’t he? That +almost presupposes a rope.” + +“But they found the rope, sir, by the boathouse.” + +“No, they didn’t,” said Wilson. “_This_ is the rope.” + +“Then what’s the other?” + +“The other? Oh, a plant, of course. That’s what I suspected. But why +on earth were they such fools as to leave this one here? I suppose +they lost it, tipped the box over on it, couldn’t find it in the +dark, and didn’t dare to stay looking for it too long. It was all +odds against it ever being found.” + +“Particularly,” said Michael, “if the body had stayed at the bottom +of the river.” + +“Yes. Well, I think that’s about all we shall find up here. Suppose +we get down. When you’ve finished, Linton, bring those drawings to +me, and then put a guard at the bottom of the stair. What’s this?” + +“A chestnut on a string,” said Michael, picking it up. “Not much good +to us, is it? They’re hardly likely to have been playing conkers +here.” + +“Oh, I don’t know,” said Wilson. “They may have been. Bring it along, +anyway.” + +He led the way out of the loft, followed by Prendergast and the +landlord. When they reached the landing Wason plucked at his sleeve. +“If you please, sir, could I have a word with you?” + +“Right.” Wilson turned in at the doorway of Meston’s room. “What is +it?” + +“That emerald, sir, you picked up in the loft--I didn’t like to say +much, not with all those chaps about; but I’ve a feeling I know whose +it is.” + +“Well?” + +“Mr. John’s, sir,” said Wason. + +“Oh!” Wilson seemed more than a little surprised. “John Loring’s? Are +you sure?” + +“Pretty sure, sir,” the landlord admitted unwillingly. “Mr. John, +when he was about these parts, he always had an emerald tie-pin, with +a great big stone in the centre and a lot of little ’uns all round. +And my girl, she saw him when he drove back with the police, and she +noticed particular he was wearing his emerald pin.” Wason looked very +distressed. + +John Loring’s! And in the loft, where certainly John Loring had no +reason to be. Little as he liked Sylvia Meston, Michael was almost +indignant with Wilson for raising her hopes so recently. But Wilson +did not appear moved. + +“Well, we shall see what we shall see,” he said. “Hullo, Colonel, any +luck?” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + +Colonel Lockwood looked extremely puzzled. “I can’t understand it,” +he said. “I’ve traced the pulley--it wasn’t made by Goodyear, by the +way. But a man called Templeton, who lives just outside the town, +remembers quite well making a pulley and pulley-block to just those +measurements, about three weeks ago.” + +“For whom?” said Wilson. “That’s the point.” + +“For Potts, the footman up at the Grange. But----” + +“That’s all right,” said Wilson, whose face had fallen, but +brightened up in a minute. “Of course, it might perfectly well have +been Potts. In fact, it’s really more likely.” + +“More likely than what?” said the Colonel. “Potts doesn’t seem to me +to have much to do with Kershaw. And it was Kershaw whom you told me +to watch.” + +“Yes,” said Wilson. “I hope you did, by the way. But Kershaw didn’t +commit the murder.” + +“Then who did?” + +As Wilson opened his mouth to reply, there was a knock on his +sitting-room door, and a bland, cherubic face looked in. + +“May I have a look at the exhibits, please, Mr. Wilson?” Brandreth +asked. “I believe that’s the proper name for them. I’ve just been up +in the loft, and I noticed----” + +“Mr. Brandreth,” said Wilson, “will you kindly clear out? I’m busy.” + +“I’m so sorry,” the lawyer replied. “If I’m intruding I’ll come +another time. But I really thought you’d like to know----” He paused +expectantly. + +“Like to know what?” Wilson asked. If there was no other way of +ridding himself of this pestilential lawyer, he supposed he would +have to hear him out. + +“Why, whose bootprints they are that your man’s drawing so patiently +up in the loft,” said Brandreth. “I’ve just been to have a look.” + +“Then you will kindly not go again!” said Wilson, still with +asperity. “Nobody is to go up there. Well, whose are they?” + +“You don’t know?” said Brandreth, with a look of beautiful innocence. +“Come--I give you three guesses.” + +“Mr. Brandreth, will you kindly stop being a buffoon, and tell us +what you know?” + +“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said the lawyer. “But, you see, I have a personal +interest. The bootprints happen to be mine.” + +This time there was no doubt. Wilson was genuinely startled. +“_Yours?_” he said incredulously. “Mr. Brandreth, are you making me a +confession, or is this another of your extremely ill-timed jokes?” + +“Oh dear, no,” said the lawyer. “I’m not a murderer. I’m not even an +accomplice. I’m only a member of the inquiring British public. You +see, I happened to go up into the loft after lunch----” + +“What, again?” + +“No, before. When you chased all those people off the bridge, I +met the boots, and asked him where the trunk had come from. I was +standing on the bridge when you hauled it up, you see. He said it +came out of the loft, so I went up to have a look. I came down before +you went up there; but when I went up again just now, and saw Linton +earnestly making sketches of my bootprints, I thought perhaps I’d +better let you know.” He held up a foot for inspection. “Would you +like to draw them? or shall I send a boot round to you? I give you my +word they’re the same.” + +“Mr. Brandreth,” said Wilson, “some people would call you the most +impudent person they had ever met.” + +The lawyer sighed. “You misinterpret my motives, Mr. Wilson. You +don’t allow enough for intelligent curiosity, really you don’t. I +beg your pardon for interrupting. Afternoon, Lockwood!” And with a +comprehensive smile he was gone. + +“Really!” said Michael. “What confounded cheek! I shouldn’t wonder if +he really was the murderer.” + +“Nonsense!” said Wilson. “Of course he wasn’t. Don’t be an ass, +Michael. That kind of chap doesn’t commit murder, except in novels +that must have ‘unexpected’ endings. He’s a buffoon and a busybody, +and that’s all about it. Actually, I’m grateful to him for clearing +up one difficulty.” + +“Then who was?” the Colonel asked. For answer Wilson drew from his +pocket the envelope in which lay the little emerald. + +“John Loring!” Michael cried. “But I thought----” + +“John!” gasped the Colonel. “But I’ve just given leave for Sylvia to +see him! Really, Wilson, I think you might have----” + +“Not John Loring, Colonel,” said Wilson, who was not always above +creating a sensation. “Godfrey.” + +“Godfrey! The Squire! It’s impossible! What do you mean?” The Colonel +stared in horror. + +“But,” said Michael, “Wason said the emerald was John Loring’s.” + +“Wason was wrong. John Loring’s isn’t the only emerald tie-pin. The +Squire also has one--they’re family twins, I believe--and I noticed +when I met him that one of the stones was missing. John Loring’s, I +think, is complete.” + +“But what an appalling thing! Are you _sure_?” said the Colonel. + +“I should not have mentioned it if I were not,” said Wilson, who +disliked having his statements doubted. “If you ask Godfrey Loring to +provide you with an alibi for Friday night of last week, I think you +will find that you have put him in rather a difficulty. Of course we +shall be able to be quite sure when we have compared the footprints +in the loft.” + +“I thought Brandreth said those were his?” Michael said. + +“One set was,” said Wilson. “But there were three sets. That was one +thing which puzzled me, especially as one set looked much fresher +than the others. Those must have been Brandreth’s.” + +“But the _Squire_?” The Colonel was still gasping like a fish. “You +can’t mean it? Are you accusing Godfrey Loring of _murder_?” + +“Of being concerned,” said Wilson in his grimmest voice, “in the +murder of William Meston on the night of ninth August, by hanging +him from a pulley in that gable. And I am prepared to swear an +information to that effect against him and his accomplice.” + +“His accomplice?” + +“Potts--the footman. Of course, you must have seen this wasn’t a +one-man job. And, from what you’ve just told me, it’s evident that +Potts was the other criminal.” + +“Why?” + +“My dear Colonel, who was it ordered the pulley? More than that, who +was it found the rope by the alder stump--the rope which was to send +John Loring to the gallows for his brother’s crime--the rope which +was not there a week after the crime was committed, and which only +appeared when you had told Godfrey Loring that the evidence against +his brother was not complete enough to take before a jury? Potts! And +when I questioned him yesterday, he stuck firmly to his story, which, +as I happened to know, was a lie. He is certainly a faithful servant.” + +“But,” Michael said, “aren’t you forgetting Kershaw? And Hanborough? +A little while ago you seemed sure that Kershaw and Hanborough had +done it together.” + +“Hanborough, as you so pertinently observed, my dear Michael, is off +the map. The connection between him and Kershaw is very interesting, +but has nothing directly to do with the murder. As to Kershaw, I +shan’t know for certain till I’ve had an opportunity of questioning +him freely. But I fancy he saw the crime.” + +“Saw the crime?” + +“Yes, from the tow-path opposite, on his way to Billings’s cottage. +You remember he started to go there, but never arrived. _Something_ +occurred to delay him, and if that something was a man being hanged +from the Malting House windows, it might well have given him +something to think about. You remember Warden, who saw him coming +back across the bridge, thought he looked as if he’d seen a ghost.” + +“But why did he come back at all?” + +“Well, most people, seeing a murder committed before their eyes, +would at least stop to inquire, wouldn’t they? I imagine Kershaw, not +knowing whom he’d seen, went round to the Old Malting House, and met +them coming out.” + +“And then?” + +“Well, have you forgotten Kershaw’s financial position? And the bills +that were paid?” + +“I see!” Michael said. “You mean blackmail. But--that was _before_ +the body came up out of the water. Do you mean Kershaw undertook to +hit it over the head when it did?” + +“No, of course not. It wasn’t intended ever to be seen again. The +pier--and your untimely appearance, Michael--are responsible for that +unlucky blow. Unlucky, I mean, from Kershaw’s point of view.” + +“Because it directed suspicion to him?” + +“And because it dried up his milch-cow. That, I fancy, is where our +friend tripped himself up. Five hundred pounds in one lump is a +pretty good catch, and everybody knows how rich Loring is. Kershaw, +I surmise, saw himself in clover for the rest of his life, and when +the body turned up again, either in order to secure his income, or to +prevent the crime being discovered--in which case Loring was pretty +sure to give him away--took the insane step of faking that blow. +Either way he did himself in. We intercepted a note at his house, +Michael, giving Loring’s views on the matter, and I rather think the +conversation whose tail we heard this morning was Kershaw’s last +throw. Of course, by faking the blow, he at once made it impossible +for himself to blackmail anybody. But this is rather idle conjecture. +It’s what I think happened; but we shall get it all out of Kershaw. +He’ll speak fast enough when you have him under lock and key, and +kept without his drugs.” + +“Drugs? Blackmail?” said the bewildered Colonel. “I don’t know what +you’re talking about. But if you really mean me to take up this +charge, you’ve got to tell me why. What conceivable motive had +Godfrey----?” + +“Motive?” Wilson cried. “You’ve been meeting the man almost every +day, and you talk to me of motive! Man alive! where are your eyes? +Haven’t you seen Loring with Mrs. Meston? Why, the man’s eaten up +with passion for her, and has been, I should say, for years--long +before he saw the bank manager walk off with her under his very nose. +I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that he had something to do with +John Loring’s sudden departure for China.” At this a sudden look of +horrified illumination came into the Colonel’s face. “And then--she +ran away from Meston to the Grange. And Meston followed her there, +and was thrown out, if you’ll remember, by Potts, acting on his +master’s instructions. And he saw his chance. Do you really believe, +knowing him as you do, that he’s not the sort of man to take his +chance when he got it--not to mention that he’s been moving heaven +and earth to get you to arrest his brother and to make sure of his +conviction?” + +“I remember,” the Colonel said slowly, “that he _did_ get John to go +to China. He found him the post, and got him to accept--he asked my +advice about it. But I can’t think----” + +“If we waste much time thinking,” Wilson interrupted, “it’ll be too +late to act. May I remind you that these two are still at large--and +news travels fast in this gossip-hive of yours!” + +“I suppose,” said the Colonel reluctantly, “I’ve got to arrest him.” + +“And quickly, I should say,” said Wilson, “or he won’t be there +to arrest. In fact, I shouldn’t wait for the warrant. I should go +straight up to the Grange and detain him pending inquiries. I’ll get +the warrant, if you like. And, by the way, make for Potts first. +He’s nearly as guilty, but we want his evidence to catch Loring. +Don’t let him get away. And, if I may, I’ll see that your people +make sure of Kershaw. Only, for God’s sake, Colonel, be careful. The +man’s absolutely desperate, and he’ll stick at nothing. I’ll go in a +minute, as soon as I’ve got my evidence into order.” + +Only half convinced, but completely browbeaten, the Colonel got to +his feet, and slowly disappeared. For a few minutes after he had +gone, Wilson wrote rapidly, transferring hieroglyphic notes out of +his pocket-book. + +“That ought to do the trick,” he said at last. “Now for convincing +Loring’s fellow-magistrates.” He led the way to the door. On the +threshold he hesitated. “You know,” he said, “I’m not sure that I +oughtn’t to have gone to the Grange myself. It’s a very ticklish +business, and Lockwood’s such an infernal blunderer. I’m half afraid +he’ll let the man get away. I wonder if I ought to go.” + +“They’ll be nearly there by now,” said Michael, looking at his watch. + +As he spoke, a car came tearing down the High Street, jammed on +its brakes with an excruciating scream, and shot out Mark Warden, +white-faced and anxious-eyed, on the pavement beside them. + +“Mr. Wilson,” he said, without any preliminary, “is it true there’s a +row at the Grange, and Lockwood’s gone off to arrest--the Squire?” + +“It is true,” said Wilson shortly, trying to silence the young man, +as a number of heads appeared at surrounding windows. + +“And Edna’s there alone! Why didn’t you tell me? What’s it about?” +Warden said. “I shall go up there now,” he added defiantly. + +“You can go if you like,” said Wilson, making a sudden decision, “if +you take me with you. You can come, if you like, Michael.” + + * * * * * + +“Mind if I let her out a bit?” the young man asked, having packed +them in. + +“Not when you’ve got past the corner,” was the reply. “I want to +speak to the constable on duty there.” In a moment, it seemed, +they were at the corner, and Wilson, summoning the constable, +instructed him to leave his post and go and fetch Dr. Kershaw to the +police-station immediately, there to await further orders. “Now you +can step on it,” he said to Warden, as the man turned away. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + +“What’s it all about, Mr. Wilson?” Warden asked in the intervals of +“stepping on it,” while Wilson and Michael held on to their hats. “Or +is it still a secret?” + +Wilson gave a brief outline of the story, and he set his teeth and +drove, if possible, more violently. “The swine!” he said. “I knew he +was no good; but he was Edna’s brother, and she would stick up for +him. God, I hope he’s not done anything to her! You might have given +me a hint.” + +“I would, as soon as I’d been at all sure,” Wilson said. “But until +this afternoon I had only the barest of conjectures to go on. I am +ashamed to say that I forgot Miss Loring at the moment; but I am +quite certain she’s in no danger. What I’m afraid of is that Lockwood +may bungle it somehow, and let Loring get away.” + +“Well, he hasn’t got away, yet--not along this road,” said Warden, as +the lodge gates of the Grange appeared in sight. + +“Nor have the police come back,” said Wilson, who was keeping an +anxious look-out. + +They swung round the corner on two wheels, and shot along the curves +of the drive. “We’ll be there in a minute,” Warden said, as they +reached the narrow part. Suddenly they heard, not far ahead of them, +the sound of a Klaxon pressed furiously and continuously. + +“God!” said Warden, slowing slightly in his dismay. “That’s Loring’s +horn! He’s off!” + +“Stop the car!” Michael cried, taking in the danger all at once. “The +curve--look!--and cars from the Grange have the road! He’ll smash +us.” They could hear the engine now as well as the horn. + +“Turn her into the hedge, quick,” Wilson ordered. “As far as you can, +and jump out.” With a grinding of brakes, Warden obeyed. Michael had +just got the door open, when the two-seater flashed round the bend, +not twenty yards ahead. + +What happened then, Michael was never quite certain. The two-seater +hesitated for a second, seeing them, then made a frantic effort to +swerve past. But the space, even with Warden’s car in the hedge, +was insufficient; the two-seater caught the mud-guard, slewed round, +and plunged its nose into the fence on the far side. There was a +crash, a rearing-up of the car, and the man in it was flung violently +backwards into the drive, where he lay still. Wilson and Michael, who +had got out at the back of their own car, were pinned by it against +the hedge and unable for a minute to extricate themselves; but +Warden, who had been standing by the bonnet, after a second’s shocked +immobility, ran forward. As he came up, the figure on the ground +stirred slightly. + +“Look out!” Wilson shouted; but the warning came too late. Even as +Warden bent to touch him, Godfrey Loring leaped to his feet, threw +him aside, and sprang for the fence. Warden followed; but Loring, +with his hands on the fence, dealt him a furious kick in the body, +vaulted over, and shot away across the grass. Warden staggered back, +then, recovering, made a desperate shot at the fence, and cleared +it, but on the other side dropped, writhing and clutching his +stomach, just as Wilson and Michael, at last free of the encumbering +wreckage, reached the fence. + +“Got me--where I strained myself,” he gasped. “All--right. Catch +him--brute!” + +Michael, with his teeth set, started in pursuit of the flying figure. + +“Careful, Michael, he’s probably armed,” said Wilson, who, knowing +himself to be no match for his friend as a runner, was contenting +himself with bearing to the left so as to cut off Loring’s retreat to +the park gates. + +Michael heard, but barely took in the warning as he ran. He was +measuring with his eye the distance between Loring and a little +copse of trees for which he was obviously making. He did not think +that the murderer would risk stopping to fire until he had reached +that shelter. Once there, of course, he could, if he were a good +shot, pick off both Wilson and himself with comparative ease. The +thing to do, therefore, was to catch him before he got there, and +this Michael, proud of his running powers, did not think ought to +be difficult, particularly when pitted against a man who had just +had such a violent fall. Besides, wasn’t that blood on that tuft of +grass? If he were bleeding he could not last long. + +These reflections very nearly proved his undoing; for in his +excitement about the tuft he forgot to look to his own ground, +stumbled, and put his foot into a rabbit-hole, wrenching his ankle +so violently that he nearly fell; and when he recovered himself, +Loring, whose powers of endurance seemed remarkable, was barely ten +yards from the copse. Michael put on a hopeless spurt, but only to +see his enemy reach the trees, whip round, and pull something from +his pocket. Instinctively he swerved, and felt the bullet whizz past +his cheek. But before Loring could fire again, something sprang on +him from behind. There was a sound of cursing, a struggle, a couple +of quick reports, and a fall. Michael ran up as fast as he could, to +find Loring lying on the ground, a smoking revolver by his hand, and +blood pouring from his side; while, above him, Brian Mackenzie, with +a face like an avenging fury, was shaking and throttling him as if he +meant nothing less than murder. + +“Here, stop that!” Michael, seeing Godfrey’s face turn purple, +shouted to the explorer. “Can’t you see the man’s shot? You’ll kill +him!” + +With a gasp of astonishment, Mackenzie let go suddenly, and the +Squire gave his head a jerk. “Hell--take--you!” he gasped; and with +an expiring flicker of energy made a grab for his revolver. But just +as he touched it his fingers collapsed, his eyes glazed, and he lay +in a limp heap on the turf. Michael, his professional instincts +getting the better of his astonishment, knelt down to examine him. + +“Well?” said Wilson, coming up at a leisurely trot. “What about it? +Is he dead? And what are you doing, sir?” to Mackenzie. + +“No; he’s not dead,” said Michael, looking up. “Only fainted from +loss of blood. He cut his head, apparently, when he fell out of the +car. And he’s got a wound in the side--only a flesh wound, though +it’s bleeding nastily, and a broken leg. Lend me your handkerchief, +will you?” + +“Good,” said Wilson. “I should have been sorry if he’d cheated the +gallows. Did you shoot him?” + +“I’m not armed,” said Mackenzie, extending his hands. “Shooting’s +too good for him. Strangling’s what he needs.” His fingers twitched +suggestively. + +“He’d have _been_ strangled,” Michael remarked, “if I hadn’t come up.” + +“Of course he would,” said Mackenzie. “That’s what I stayed for, to +get my hands on him--the brute! I was coming down to cut him off in +the road.” + +“Oh! As Mrs. Meston’s champion, I presume,” said Wilson dryly. “What +excited you so?” + +“He wouldn’t keep his filthy paws off her,” the man said. “He said +he’d got her _now_, and could make her marry him--_him!_ I swore I’d +kill him first.” + +“Oh!” said Wilson again. “Well, you may thank your stars you were +prevented. Murder--or even manslaughter--is not a nice charge. Now, +you might as well help to patch your friend up for us. And when +you’ve done, Michael, you’d better go and have a look at Warden. That +was a nasty kick. Will you stay with me, Mr. Mackenzie?” + +Michael finished his extempore bandaging, and went down to look at +Warden, whom he found lying by the fence, very white and sick, but +not apparently badly damaged. While he was attending to him there +was again the hoot of a car. “Good lord!” said Michael, “there’ll +be another smash!” and ran to the bend, to find the police car +proceeding at a somewhat less dangerous pace towards him. + +“What’s this?” Colonel Lockwood asked, surveying the wreckage. “Why, +it’s the Squire’s car! Where is he?” + +“Over there,” said Michael, pointing. “Wilson’s with him. He’s a bit +damaged; you’ll have to bring a stretcher or something. You’ve got +Potts, I see?” The footman was sitting sullenly in the back of the +car between two policemen, one of whom was nursing a damaged hand. + +“Fought like a wild beast, sir,” Sergeant Linton explained. “He’s +bitten Williamson’s hand near to the bone. And while we were getting +hold of him the Squire slipped away.” + +“Well, he can’t slip much farther,” said Michael. + +It took some little time to clear away the débris and sort out +the prisoners. Eventually Warden, leaning heavily on a stick, but +professing himself all right, was allowed to go up to the Grange to +look after Edna, whose behaviour had earned golden opinions from +Colonel Lockwood’s staff; Linton and the two policemen departed with +the prisoners; while Wilson, Michael, and Colonel Lockwood returned +to the station in the police car. Mackenzie, who had apparently +undergone some plain speaking from Wilson on the subject of taking +the law into his own hands, accompanied them to have his statement +taken down. At the station they were met with the news that Kershaw +had fled, but would probably be recaptured in an hour or so. + +“Somebody’s tipped him the wink, sir,” the constable said in an +injured tone; “can’t think who it can have been.” + +“I fancy I’ve an idea,” Wilson said grimly. + +“What next?” Colonel Lockwood asked him, with a childlike faith in +his face. + +“I should think,” the latter said, “we might perhaps release John +Loring. You transferred him here this morning, I understand.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + +“Begging your pardon, Colonel,” the constable said, “but they’ve been +ringing up from your house continuous to say Mrs. Meston’s there and +won’t go away again till she’s seen young Mr. Loring. She was here +earlier, saying you said she was to see him; but not ’aving your +instructions, of course, we couldn’t do anything. Now she’s in your +drawing-room, your ’ousekeeper says--been there over a hower making a +great to-do.” + +“Good Lord!” the Colonel said. “I quite forgot--I did tell her she +might see him.” + +“Well, hadn’t she better?” Wilson suggested. “You could send for +her--or, perhaps better, take the young man over to your house. You +might even lend them a room for an hour or two.” He smiled. “If +you’ll allow me, I’ll take him over myself. There’s one little bit of +information I want from Mrs. Meston, and I think she’s perhaps more +likely to give it me if I come with an olive-branch.” + +The Colonel was only too willing to oblige, and in a very few minutes +Wilson, with a rather dazed young man packed unostentatiously by +his side, drove off for the Colonel’s house. John Loring was too +bewildered by the sudden turn of events to make many comments; in +fact, it was the almost irrelevant feature of Hanborough’s behaviour +that appeared to interest him most. + +“I’d never have thought it of Nick,” he said. “The chap would have +made a damned good poker-player, keeping his face like that. Of +course, everybody knew Kershaw was a rotter--he lost his first job +through killing a girl he’d got into a mess. Illegal operation, you +know.” + +“Was that it? I wondered what had happened; but nobody seemed to +know.” + +“I don’t think anybody hereabouts did,” said John, “except Godfrey. +Godfrey always knows everything of that sort. He chucked it at +Kershaw one evening when they were having a row, and I was there, +and Kershaw went green as grass. He made me swear not to tell, +though--Godfrey did, I mean. I suppose he wanted to keep it up his +own sleeve. Anyway, I didn’t want to split on the poor devil; it was +all over and done with. I suppose that he’ll get it in the neck now?” + +“I trust they all will,” said Wilson grimly, as they pulled up at +Colonel Lockwood’s door. He entered the drawing-room, with John +behind him, and faced a figure of blazing reproach. + +“What do you mean by _promising_----” Sylvia began, and then caught +sight of the other intruder. “_Oh!_” she said. “_John!_” And suddenly +her lip quivered, and Wilson saw tears in her eyes for the first time. + +In two strides, John Loring had crossed the room and taken her in his +arms. There was a long silence. + +“I thought,” John said triumphantly, “you wanted me to go back to +China.” + +“I thought you’d gone,” said Sylvia. “You do jump to conclusions, +don’t you?” + +“If you’ll excuse me,” Wilson said tactfully, “I think I’d better go +and tidy up some of my notes.” + +Half an hour later he returned, having actually finished working +up the full notes of the case, and having learned from the +police-station that neither Kershaw nor Hanborough had yet been +caught. He found two happy sinners engaged in a sort of friendly +recrimination on the couch, one of them with his arm unashamedly +round the other’s waist. As he entered they looked up with radiant +faces. + +“Well, how goes it?” Wilson asked. + +“Quite up to sample,” Sylvia said. “John’s been telling me you’ve +released him, and I’ve been telling him you’d have released him long +ago if he hadn’t been such a fool as not to say where he was.” + +“What would have been the good if I had?” John inquired. “You could +only have sworn I didn’t touch him. And who’s going to believe a +little liar like you? You’ll have to mend your ways now, my girl.” + +“Don’t you wish you could make me?” Sylvia said. “Did we mention we +were thinking of getting married, Mr. Wilson?” + +“My heartiest congratulations,” Wilson said. “I think it will do you +both a world of good.” + +“That, darling,” said Sylvia, “is meant as a nasty one for me. Mr. +Wilson doesn’t think I’m reliable.” + +“Well, good God, who wants you to be?” said John Loring, kissing her +with a sudden fierce movement. “Do you suppose I want to marry a +reliable person? Don’t you agree, Mr. Wilson?” + +“My wife,” said Wilson, with a sudden descent into sententiousness, +“says that the most reliable-looking people are often those you can’t +depend on.” + +“Oh dear!” said Sylvia, “is there a Mrs. Wilson? If so, I’ve been +wasting a lot on you. You look to me an incurably faithful man.” + +“Hopeless, I’m afraid,” said Wilson. “But why not try Dr. +Prendergast? He’s not married.” + +“Dr. Prendergast!” Sylvia said. “Why don’t you say the inkstand?” + +“Oh, leave the man alone, you she-devil,” her lover interrupted. “You +haven’t yet thanked him for bringing you back a husband from the +foot of the gallows. He did it all, you know. I suppose it _is_ all +right?” he added to Wilson. + +“As far as you’re concerned, perfectly,” was the reply. “There’s only +one bit of information I’m lacking, apart from what I hope to get +from Potts and Kershaw. Could you tell me, Mrs. Meston, whether at +any time, after Mr. Loring’s departure for China, Mr. Godfrey Loring +ever asked you to marry him?” + +“He didn’t _ask_ me,” Sylvia said. “He took it for granted I would. +That’s partly why I married William--to get away from him. Ugh!” She +gave a shiver. + +“The beast!” John Loring cried, with an irrepressible movement of his +fist. “If I get my hands on him----” + +“For mercy’s sake, John, don’t murder anybody else!” Sylvia said. + +“Anybody else! You talk as if _I_ had murdered Meston. Blowed if I +don’t believe you thought I did.” + +“Well, how was I to know?” Sylvia asked, reasonably. “I’m very glad +you didn’t, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have if you’d thought +of it. That’s why I went away. I didn’t want Mr. Wilson asking me +questions about your sweet temper.” + +“D’you really think I’d go and hang a man in cold blood?” + +“You’re very particular,” said Sylvia. “If you were going to kill me, +I shouldn’t very much mind how you did it.” + +“I’ll remember that,” John promised, “when I do.” + + * * * * * + +“Are you going to catch Kershaw?” John asked, after an interlude. + +“I think so,” Wilson assured him. + +“I wonder what gave him the tip to clear out. You didn’t tell any one +you were going up to the Grange, did you?” + +“No,” said Wilson, who was looking out of the window. “But I fancy I +know the answer to your question, for all that. In fact, I believe +I see the answer coming. Wait a minute; I want to surprise him.” He +went out into the hall, and had a brief conversation with the maid. +Immediately afterwards the front door opened, there was a sound of +voices, and the maid threw open the drawing-room door. + +“Mr. Brandreth, sir,” she announced. + +For once in his life the little lawyer seemed disconcerted. +Obviously, he had not expected to find the group in the drawing-room. +He looked round a little nervously, licked his lips, and backed +towards the door. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I thought Colonel +Lockwood----” + +“Would provide you with a little more exclusive information.” Wilson +finished the sentence grimly. “Just so. But, you know, I think it’s +your turn. Mr. Brandreth, what exactly have you been up to?” + +“I? Nothing,” said the lawyer. + +“Perhaps if I made my question a little more specific--What exactly +did you tell Kershaw?” + +“Why, that you’d been looking in the loft. Plenty of people could +have told him that, as a matter of fact. But I just happened to be +passing.” + +“Oh, you did, did you? When? How long after you had that conversation +with Lockwood and myself about your boots?” + +“Oh, five or ten minutes, perhaps,” said Brandreth airily. + +“In fact, you went immediately and warned him to clear out. Do you +know that there are legal penalties for aiding a murderer to escape, +Mr. Brandreth?” + +“Dear, dear,” said the lawyer. “Is Kershaw a murderer? You really +do surprise me. I should have thought him incapable of it. But, Mr. +Wilson, you policemen should take the public into your confidence a +little more, you know. Why, any one of us may be helping a murderer +to escape, quite innocently, if you won’t tell us who he is. You +bring it on yourselves, really you do; and you might so easily have +let me get myself into serious trouble. As it happens, of course, +I didn’t assist him. I merely passed on a piece of common news. In +fact, I fear I even hindered his flight, by refusing to lend him +money. I’ve had to give up the pleasure of lending Kershaw money for +some time past. His requirements are too comprehensive.” + +Wilson bit his lip. “I see. And then you went on and warned the +Squire?” + +“Indeed I did not,” said Brandreth virtuously. “I have not been near +the Grange. I assure you, I had not the least idea----” + +“Or you would have gone there too. It would not surprise me greatly, +Mr. Brandreth, if you found yourself in jail one of these days.” + +The lawyer laughed. “And the worst of it is,” he said, “that when I +am caught, the bootprint department will instantly recognise me as an +old offender.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + +“At last!” Michael said, as Wilson entered their sitting-room at the +Old Malting House very late for dinner next day. “We were just going +to begin without you. Any news?” He was sitting with Edna Loring and +Mark Warden, who had been invited to celebrate Wilson’s last evening +in Essex. + +“Potts has decided to confess,” Wilson replied. “That’s what kept me. +But that, coupled with Kershaw’s statement, gives the Crown a very +easy job.” + +“Then may we hear what really happened?” Warden begged. “There are +so many red herrings flying about, that one doesn’t know what to +believe.” + +“Oh, Mark!” Edna reproached him. “Do let Mr. Wilson get something to +eat first. He looks absolutely worn out. And besides--I want to know +how he did it.” + +“Beer,” said Wilson. “Lots of beer. Then I’ll tell you.” + +It was not, however, until the meal was finished, and they were +leaning back comfortably in their chairs, that he began his story. + +“The real trouble about this case was that it was not one, but +two--the misappropriation of your funds, Warden, and the murder +of Meston. Kershaw was the only link between them, and he was +practically an accidental link--except that his moral habits and +the financial difficulties which in part arose out of them no doubt +helped him to fall an easier prey to Loring. + +“At first sight, Hanborough, I’ll admit, appeared to me much the +likeliest culprit, after my first meeting with you, Warden. It was +too much to believe that the senior partner had not been able to find +out in several months who was tampering with his funds, and it was +pretty clear that all his efforts had been directed to keeping you +and Meston off the trail. The obvious conclusion was that Meston had +found out more than he should, and had to be killed. But then--how +did Kershaw come in? From the moment we discovered the cause of +death, and still more from the date of the inquest, it became clear +that Kershaw _could not_ conceivably be innocent--no innocent man +could have been so careless. And the murderer, further, seemed to +require an accomplice. But what had Kershaw to do with Hanborough? I +could find no connection--nor any motive for Kershaw to act on his +own. + +“I hadn’t, naturally, lost sight of the other possible motive--which, +of the two, was most likely, on the face of it, to lead to murder, +since nothing but Meston’s death would suffice to set his wife +free. The difficulty there was that there seemed to be such an +embarrassment of persons to choose from, and, until we heard of John +Loring’s return, no reason to pick one rather than another. There was +for a start, Burden, Mackenzie, Leslie Buckton--and Godfrey Loring.” + +“What? You suspected Godfrey--then!” The question came from Edna. + +“No; I certainly couldn’t say that,” said Wilson, searching for +phrases in which to clothe his opinions of Godfrey without too much +hurting Godfrey’s sister. “I had merely noticed him when he came to +pick up Mrs. Meston, and again at the inquest, and had observed that +he was obviously in love with her, and that he would be a dangerous +man to cross. I wondered for how long his affections had been +directed to that quarter--whether possibly it was before his brother +departed for China----” + +“I think it was,” Edna said. “I wondered once or twice--but I wasn’t +paying much attention. And Godfrey never said a word. But do you +mean--did you think he would have killed John?” + +“No. I only thought that possibly he might have had something to do +with his sudden flight, which appeared to have taken every one by +surprise. And I also thought it odd that in all this hive of gossip +nobody seemed to have coupled his name with Mrs. Meston’s. This +seemed to suggest he was keeping his feelings very dark, which, with +a man of his type, is apt to lead to an explosion. That was all. + +“Then came Machin’s story, Mrs. Meston’s flight, and all the other +evidence against John Loring. Mrs. Meston, of course, had clearly +run away either to avoid questioning or to warn her lover--both, as +it turned out; and it looked as though things were going to arrange +themselves very blackly for him. You will remember that it was on the +same day that we discovered--or thought we discovered,” he smiled at +Edna, “that Hanborough had an alibi for the critical period. + +“Well, it began to work out very neatly, for a time. But somehow I +didn’t quite trust it. The crime, you see, was so premeditated that +it was rather difficult to fit John Loring, from what people said +of him, into the part, even with Kershaw to help him. I couldn’t +convince myself; and, when I actually saw the young man, I was less +convinced than ever. I saw, not the callous, clever young desperado +who would have been necessary, but a hot-headed, indiscreet youth who +was obviously in despair of the world, but who was yet determined +to keep silence on some vital point. I deduced a final quarrel with +his young woman and a determination to keep her name out of it; and +eventually Sylvia Meston kindly told me I was right. But it didn’t +add up to a murderer. + +“Then I began to notice one or two other things. I noticed, first, +that Godfrey Loring had been very anxious to inform the police +of his brother’s whereabouts; then--from his correspondence with +Kershaw--that he had some close and unpleasant connection with the +latter. When Mrs. Meston turned up again, she further informed me +that Godfrey was very anxious to ‘protect’ her, and--which was more +important--that he had deliberately advised her to leave the place, +to write a very stupid, incriminating letter to Brandreth, and sent +her very carefully to an address where he knew John Loring could not +possibly be. Of course, at this stage I’d nothing like proof against +him, and really very little general grounds of suspicion. + +“Then came something more concrete. Lockwood, you know, was in the +habit of discussing the case regularly with the Squire as chairman +of the bench, and one of my great difficulties at that stage was +that I dared not breathe a whisper of my suspicions to the Chief +Constable. In one of these conversations, Lockwood let out that I was +unsatisfied with the evidence against John, chiefly because there +was nothing, at the place where he met Mrs. Meston, to indicate +that it was the scene of the crime. At this point, I fear, we must +say definitely that Godfrey Loring had decided to fix the crime on +his brother--whose return, of course, had made Meston’s murder quite +useless to him. He then hit on the idea of a duplicate rope, which +Potts was instructed to ‘find’ and bring in. We have the name of the +man who sold Potts the rope. Potts, however, who acted throughout +with a loyalty worthy of a better cause, unfortunately chose to +hide the rope in a spot which I happened to have actually searched +myself; so that, as soon as I came to think things over, I realised +that whether or not the rope were the rope we were looking for, its +finding by the alder stump was a plant. This, of course, implicated +Potts, and probably Potts’s master, and I began to ask myself, as I +ought to have done long ago, why, if the murder had been committed up +at the boathouse, nobody had noticed the body on its way down-stream. +At this point, I was able to evolve a fair idea of how the crime +might have been committed, though I could not get anything in the way +of proof until I found it in the loft.” + +“And how was it committed?” Michael asked. + +“Pretty much as I suggested yesterday. According to Potts, the +plot was laid as soon as it was known that Meston had taken up his +quarters at the Old Malting House. Potts was brought in, by the way, +because he was known to have himself a deep-seated private grievance +against Meston, who had interfered a long time before in one of his +village amours.” + +“Meston’s crusades on behalf of public morals seem to have served him +singularly ill,” Michael observed. “Didn’t he win Kershaw’s ill-will +by somewhat the same means?” + +“He did. He was one of those unfortunate people, poor fellow, who +gain nothing but unpopularity for themselves. And Potts never +forgot--he has that patient vindictiveness which is so often the +other side of animal loyalty. + +“Well, the pulley was purchased and got into place some days +beforehand, and the date of the murder fixed to coincide with that +of the party, when it was hoped that nobody’s absence for an hour or +two would be noticed. Some time between midnight and one o’clock, the +murderers got into the inn, and Potts woke up Meston with the story +that his wife was injured at the Grange and asking for him. Meston +(who must have packed his bag over-night, though where he was going +we shall never know) got up and dressed; and when they thought they’d +given him long enough, they let down that chestnut which puzzled you +so, Michael, and tapped on his window with it. He looked out; they +called him from above; and Loring, who is a good hand with a lasso, +dropped the rope over his head. When he was dead they tied the trunk +to him, and let him down, as they thought, to everlasting oblivion in +the river. But they forgot the pier.” + +“And _Godfrey_--_Godfrey_ did all this? And then tried to get John +hanged for it!” Edna whispered. + +“I’m afraid,” said Wilson, with deeper sympathy in his tone than in +his words, “that he did. You must remember that one crime is almost +bound to lead to another, by the mere efforts of the criminal to +extricate himself. And I feel, though I don’t know the facts, that +the Squire’s past cannot but have led up directly to his attack on +Meston.” + +“Yes, I--I think it did,” Edna said, very low. It was obvious that +she had had few illusions about her brother, though their sudden +final shattering could not but have been a heavy blow. Warden put his +arm round her without speaking, and Michael, to ease the tension, +asked, “But how about Kershaw? How did he come in?” + +“He was the witness. That is to say, he was coming from his house +to Billings’s cottage, along the tow-path, when he looked up at +Meston’s lighted window, and saw the owner looking out. Then he saw +the lasso come down, and catch the man and draw him up--in fact, he +saw the whole thing, though, of course, it was too dark to recognise +the actors. He went round to the Old Malting House, intending, +possibly, to give the alarm, and on the way met Warden. No wonder +he was looking shaken when you saw him, Warden, after assisting at +such a show! But when he got to the inn, he saw Potts and the Squire +creeping out by the side-door, and it was pretty obvious they’d been +up to something. So he tackled Loring at once, and Loring, not having +had any idea, of course, that he had been observed, was for once in +his life at a loss. Eventually he offered Kershaw five hundred pounds +to hold his tongue--I can’t tell you at the moment which side that +suggestion came from, and quite possibly we shall never know. He +had Kershaw half under his thumb already, you see, because of that +incident of which John Loring told us. + +“The blackmail was duly paid, and Kershaw began to think himself in +clover. He knew how wealthy Godfrey Loring was, and he had visions +of milking him until he had not merely cleared his debts, but made +enough to set him on his feet somewhere else. Then, however, came the +news of the finding of the body by the Old Malting House. Kershaw +was in a panic, knowing perfectly well that Loring, if brought to +trial, would not hesitate a moment to give him away. And when he got +to the river, and found an inquisitive fellow-practitioner fiddling +about with the corpse, he absolutely lost his head, and faked a blow, +trusting to Lockwood’s obtuseness to enable him to carry it through. +Then, on the strength of having made assurance doubly sure, he tried +to get more money out of Loring, who obligingly pointed out that he +had merely put his own head also in the noose. The rest I think you +know.” + +“Then my partner had nothing to do with it?” Warden asked. + +“Nothing whatever, beyond acting as a red herring.” + +“Will they catch him?” + +“Personally, I doubt it. Your partner’s a very clever man, +Warden--clever, I mean, not merely ingenious. He all but succeeded in +putting your firm on its feet again, and he must have had plans all +ready laid to disappear in case of necessity. Inspector Bille delayed +his blow just twenty-four hours too long. I’m afraid that’s very hard +on you.” + +“Not quite as bad as I expected,” Warden said. “You see, as a matter +of fact, Nick _had_ put some things right before he went. It wasn’t +the funds, but finding out that people were on his trail about the +other thing, that made him levant. He was really going to have +straightened up, I’m sure--and some of it had been straightened +already. And, since it all came out, people have been frightfully +decent--I’m sure I don’t know why. Coxwell, for instance, is giving +me another chance, and so on. You know, I suppose it’s awfully wrong +of me, but I can’t help hoping Nick won’t be caught. I’m afraid I +liked him--there’s something sporting about him, and I should just +hate to have to go and give evidence against him.” + +“But surely,” Michael said hastily, to avoid a discussion on the +ethics of this view, “you’ll be a bit put to it for cash, won’t you?” + +“Well, as to that,” Warden looked at Edna and blushed very pink, “I +am marrying what they call an heiress, aren’t I, darling? And John, +who’ll--who’ll come into a lot more money--is being frightfully +generous. Of course, I should be quite in the soup if it wasn’t for +them.” + +“It’s a mercy the money will be some use to somebody at last,” said +Edna. “It never has been yet. And if it hadn’t been for Mr. Wilson, +it wouldn’t be now. I do think you’re perfectly marvellous, Mr. +Wilson. I can’t imagine how you did it.” + +“I very nearly didn’t do it, Miss Loring,” Wilson said. “Another hour +or so, and I should have been too late. And there’s one thing that +riles me still.” + +“What’s that?” Michael asked curiously. + +“Brandreth! I never got even with that old devil. He had the laugh +right up to the end.” + +“Do you think he was mixed up in it?” Warden asked. + +“In the murder--no. But he was a fairly close friend of your +Hanborough’s, and I’m pretty certain he knew a lot more than he ever +told about his affairs. I shouldn’t be really surprised, you know, +if he had actually assisted in concealing Hanborough--perhaps on that +occasion when he bolted from you, Michael, to keep a caller out of +his house. But that’s all guesswork. There’s not a thing on him; and +unless Hanborough is caught and explains fully--two very unlikely +contingencies--there isn’t going to be. I’m afraid Brandreth has +given us best.” + +“Well,” said Michael, “each to his trade. You’ve got the glory, and +he’s had his joke. What more do you want?” + +“Immediately,” said Wilson, stretching himself, “a whisky. Then, I +think, another holiday. But not with you, Michael. Holidays with you +are too much like work.” + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +Obvious punctuation errors have been silently corrected after careful +comparison with other occurrences in this work. Some hyphens in words +have been silently removed and some silently added when a predominant +preference was found in the original work. Except for those changes +noted below, original spellings in the text and inconsistent or +archaic usage have been retained. + + Page 14: “tell Doctor Kershaw’s” replaced by “tell Doctor Kershaw”. + + Page 238: “clientele hearabouts” replaced by “clientele hereabouts”. + +Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78883 *** |