‘You’d have thought so,’ said Jack with a smile, trying to smooth Constable Marsh’s ruffled feathers. ‘He could have been having a joke, though.’
Constable Marsh relaxed. ‘I suppose that could be it, sir. It seems a pretty poor sort of joke,’ he added doubtfully.
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Ashley dryly. ‘I need to follow this up, Haldean. Rolls-Royces aren’t so thick on the ground and tracing the car is a good place to start. Obviously the person I need to speak to is this Mr Vaughan.’
‘The Stuckleys will have his address,’ said Jack. ‘I’m sure you can telephone him from the house.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Ashley. He looked at the policemen. ‘You two had better stay here until Dr Wilcott has made arrangements to move the body.’ He turned to the doctor. ‘Will that take long?’
‘If the Stuckleys let me use their telephone as well, I can start the ball rolling right away,’ said Dr Wilcott.
‘Good. In that case, as Mr Tarleton has finished, we can be off.’ He looked at the two policemen again. ‘As soon as the body’s removed, you can go.’
They walked back up the path for the sole purpose, Jack thought, of getting out of earshot of the two policemen.
He was proved right when Ashley gave vent to his feelings in a sigh of irritation. ‘Can you credit those two? I thought the Keystone Kops were only found at the pictures. It was obvious the crashed car was a Rolls-Royce and yet they didn’t think to link it up with the fact that Mr Vaughan’s car had been stolen.’ He glanced at Jack. ‘Can you give me a lift to Vaughan’s? I don’t know about any shenanigans with false beards and so on, but it’s worth bearing in mind.’ He jerked his thumb backwards towards the glade. ‘I’m assuming the car is his missing Rolls, of course. It might be a coincidence, but if the registration of Vaughan’s car is AP 61 anything, then I’ll have to see him. I have to see him in any case, as he’s a witness.’
‘You can have a lift and welcome, Ashley,’ replied Jack. He hesitated awkwardly. ‘You know I mentioned a bloke called Durant Craig?’
‘Yes. What about him?’
‘Well, he’s not one of my most fervent admirers. I don’t blame him, but he’s not. If, by any chance, he’s staying with Vaughan, I’d better not come into the house.’
Ashley glanced at him appraisingly. ‘I thought you seemed a bit rattled when Marsh started talking about men with beards.’
‘It struck me how many men wore beards last night,’ said Jack. It was the truth but not all of the truth. ‘There must have been at least a dozen, if not more.’
Ashley looked at him for a few moments in silence. ‘If you say so,’ he said quietly.
The Stuckleys were happy to allow both Dr Wilcott and Superintendent Ashley to use their telephone. ‘Anything,’ as Mark Stuckley said, ‘that’ll get things back to normal as soon as possible. After all,’ he added, taking Jack into the morning room for a cup of coffee while his father showed Ashley and Dr Wilcott to the telephone, ‘it’s pretty mouldy to think that part of our land is marked with an X. Marjorie and Phyllis wanted to go and have a look but Dad wouldn’t let them.’
‘Too right,’ said Jack, picking up his coffee. ‘It’s not nice. Ashley looked pretty green, poor beggar. I think it’s the first time he’s ever seen anything like that. Dr Wilcott coped very well. Was he in the war?’
‘He was in the R.A.M.C.’
Jack nodded. ‘I thought he must have had some experience.’
Mark Stuckley shuddered. ‘It was the smell that always got to me. It always reminded me of Sunday roasts and so on, and it was ghastly to think of things like that and know why you were thinking it.’
‘Don’t,’ pleaded Jack. ‘Mark,’ he added, ‘tell me about Mr Vaughan.’
‘Why d’you want to know about Vaughan?’
‘His Rolls-Royce has been stolen and there’s a fair chance the one which crashed last night is it. Keep that to yourself, though, as it’s not certain. Anyway, Ashley wants to interview him and I’ve offered to give him a lift to Vaughan’s house.’
‘Poor beggar,’ said Mark. ‘Vaughan, I mean. I didn’t know his Rolls had been swiped. It was a lovely car. Have you any idea who stole it?’
‘No. That’s one of the reasons Ashley wants to see Vaughan. So what’s he like? As a person, I mean.’
Mark shrugged. ‘So so. I’ll say this for him, he’s as tough as old boots. He’s done a lot of hunting and mountaineering, which is usually the sort of thing I’d like, but he’s . . . well, I always feel he’d look after Number One.’ He searched for the right words. ‘You know in the war, how you could always tell who you could trust and who you couldn’t? I wouldn’t like to rely on him if I was up against it. He’s a good oarsman, though,’ added Mark in a warmer tone. ‘He got his Blue at Cambridge and won a cup at Henley years ago. He’s done some fascinating trips. I really envy him that.’
Jack grinned. Mark Stuckley had a passion for boats. A hazard of knowing Mark was being persuaded to crew for him on various boats where comfort was a very optional extra. Jack had been talked into it twice, and, rather to his surprise, had ended up enjoying himself very much.
‘I tell you what else I envy, too,’ said Mark enthusiastically. ‘He lives a little way out of Chavermere, by Stour Creek, and he’s got a first-rate boathouse. I’d love to have a really good bit of navigable river close to hand. We can’t do anything with the Hammer. It’s far too shallow for any sort of boat. I’d . . .’
Jack stepped in before Mark got carried away. ‘Your grandmother said he was an archaeologist.’
Mark snorted with laughter. ‘I bet she didn’t put it as politely as that. I glaze over when he starts holding forth. The last time he came to dinner I nearly died of boredom before I could get him back on to boats. I know Tutankhamen and so on sounds exciting when you read it in the papers, but Vaughan’s never done anything like that. It’s all old pots and he doesn’t half go on. Grandmama cuts him down to size, though. She talks about treasure-hunting and it irritates the life out of him.’ He grinned. ‘She likes you.’
‘She’s got superb taste,’ said Jack. He looked up as Ashley came into the room. ‘Any luck?’
Ashley nodded. ‘I spoke to Mr Vaughan and he’s agreed to see us. I’ve got the address. It’s a place called Two Bridges on Stour Creek Road. Incidentally, Haldean,’ he added, ‘I told Mr Vaughan you were with me.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He’s alone,’ he added. ‘No guests.’
Jack relaxed. ‘That’s probably just as well.’
‘Anyway, the registration of his Rolls is AP 6168.’ He looked at Mark. ‘Did Haldean tell you Mr Vaughan’s car was stolen? We think it was the car which crashed last night, but I didn’t say as much to Mr Vaughan. I told your father, though. He’s been very helpful and it was on your land, after all. I want to get the story of this theft. Mr Vaughan made it sound very mysterious. So, Haldean, if your offer of a lift is still on, we’ll go now, if that’s all right with you.’
‘Mysterious, eh’? Jack finished his coffee. ‘That sounds fun. Let’s go and hear all about it.’
FOUR
Vaughan’s house, Two Bridges, was flanked by two ancient humpback bridges which gave the house its name. It lay snuggled down in a roughly triangular piece of land between the Breeden and Stour Creek: a modern, white-walled building with large windows, a green tiled roof and ruler-straight lines, softened by the surrounding trees. A wrought-iron gate in the low wall, separating the grounds from the road, opened on to the driveway. On the right-hand side was a large garage and, on the other, a white wall with an arched gateway ran all the way down to the tree-fringed, sunlit creek.
Jack drew to a halt on the road and Ashley climbed out to open the gate.
He paused, a hand on the latch, looking at the grass verge. ‘Haldean,’ he called. ‘Come and see this.’
Jack switched off the engine and joined him. In the muddy fringe separating the grass verge and the driveway was a clearly marked tyre-track.
‘I can check that easily enough,’ said Ashley. He went back to the Spyker and, bringing the plaster cast he had made in the Hammer Valley, placed it in the tread-mark. It fitted perfectly.
The two men looked at each other. ‘I don’t understand this,’ said Ashley. ‘That’s the car which was in the Hammer Valley, right enough. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a tyre track from Mr Vaughan’s Roll-Royce, but that’s not the Rolls, it’s the other car, the car which dropped oil.’
‘And the car with the man and woman in it,’ said Jack quietly.
Ashley pushed his hat back. ‘So they weren’t casual sightseers, after all. This can’t be a coincidence.’ He straightened up and looked at the white-walled house. ‘I wonder what Mr Vaughan knows about them?’
‘I wonder if Mr Vaughan will be willing to tell us,’ said Jack. ‘Hang on a minute. Let’s see if the car came into the driveway, shall we?’
He opened the gate and, hoping they wouldn’t be seen by anyone in the house, walked down the drive, examining the ground. ‘There don’t seem to be any tracks,’ said Jack in a low voice. He stopped and looked at the front of the house. If the car wasn’t going into the garage, the obvious place to park was the space between the trees and the wall of the outbuilding. It was where he had intended to leave the Spyker. The gravel was disturbed but there were no clear tracks. They retraced their footsteps to the gate.
Jack paused with his hand on the car door. ‘Let’s scout around,’ he said. ‘If that car didn’t drive up to the house, I wonder where it did go?’ They walked back up the road, their eyes fixed on the ground.
‘Here it is!’ said Ashley in excitement. There was a muddy tree-sheltered verge with ample space for a car to park away from the road. There, clearly imprinted in the mud, were tracks from a set of diamond-patterned tyres.
Jack crouched down and touched a rainbow smudge on the ground. ‘Oil,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘I’ve struck oil.’
‘And I’ve found the woman,’ said Ashley, pointing to a slender, heeled footprint. He gave a low whistle. ‘By jingo, this needs some explaining. I need to take a cast of these prints.’
While the plaster of Paris was setting, they walked back up to the Spyker and sat in the car. Jack took out his cigarette case and offered it to Ashley. ‘Let’s see what we know before we go into the house,’ he said, striking a match. ‘In the first place, I’m convinced that the accident wasn’t genuine.’
‘Because you didn’t hear a car before the explosion,’ agreed Ashley.
Jack nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it. I was speaking to Vaughan and – bang! There was a terrific explosion and a sheet of flame. So far, so good. Now, earlier in the evening, Vaughan reported his Rolls had been stolen.’
‘And at quarter to six Constable Marsh stopped a Rolls – I’ll eat my hat if it’s not Vaughan’s Rolls with the number plates being so similar – on the Haverly Road. All Marsh could really tell us was that the nearside headlight was damaged and that the motorist had a cheerful manner, a full brown beard and a rug on the back seat.’
‘That’s part one, so to speak,’ said Jack, drawing on his cigarette. ‘Those are all observed or reported events. What we’re meant to think is that some poor beggar swiped Vaughan’s Rolls-Royce, piled it into a tree in the Hammer Valley and died in the fire.’
‘And what do you think actually happened?’ asked Ashley.
Jack paused to arrange his thoughts. ‘I think there was a murder,’ he said eventually. ‘I think the murderer concealed the body under a rug and drove to the Hammer Valley. I think the murderer positioned the car against a tree and subsequently set fire to it.’
‘And do you,’ said Ashley, with a deep breath, ‘think Vaughan was the murderer?’
‘You’re getting very daring in your assumptions in your old age,’ said Jack appreciatively. ‘Let’s say it is Vaughan. The fact that Constable Marsh didn’t recognize him is neither here or there.’
‘Too right,’ agreed Ashley.
‘It could be Vaughan. A cheerful manner, even with a corpse cluttering up the car, is easy enough to assume, and I know Vaughan has a false beard in his possession. You should have seen him at the party last night, Ashley. His chin was like an exploding mattress.’ Despite himself, Ashley smiled. ‘And, if you have used your car to transport illicitly acquired mortal remains, it’s only common sense to report it as stolen. Let’s say that’s what happened. After his encounter with Constable Marsh, Vaughan arranges the corpse and the car neatly against a convenient tree and tootles back home.’
Ashley choked on his cigarette. ‘That’s where the other car comes in! The diamond-tyred car, I mean. Vaughan abandons the Rolls and gets driven back here by the diamond car.’
Jack’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if you’re right.’
Ashley clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘Hang on, it won’t work. Vaughan was talking to you when the damn Rolls blew up.’
Jack grinned. ‘It’d work well enough if he had a fuse of some sort. Let me take you back to last night. I was on the terrace, as I said, and I seemed to be completely alone. Then Vaughan popped up like the demon king. Naturally, I assumed that he’d come on to the terrace through the French windows, but he could have come up the steps from the valley just as easily. We had about ten seconds’ worth of conversation and then the car blew up.’
‘A fuse?’ queried Ashley doubtfully. ‘Where would he get his hands on a fuse?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Don’t be so literal. A fuse merely conveys a spark from one place to another. A line of petrol would do it. You’d have to set fire to it right away, otherwise it’d evaporate, but there’d be nothing to stop Vaughan going down to the Rolls from the terrace, taking a can of petrol from the car and laying a trail back to the house. Then, standing on the steps and sheltered by the overhang of the terrace, he simply strikes a match, nips back up top, has a word with any passing guests he happens to see –’
‘Such as your good self.’
‘– such as my good self, and is there to evince surprise, alarm and horror when the sky falls in.’ Jack tapped the ash off his cigarette. ‘So yes, Ashley, it looks as if Vaughan could very well have done it.’
‘We’re going too fast,’ said Ashley, suddenly doubtful. ‘Mr Vaughan didn’t say much on the phone when I rang him but he did say that the theft wasn’t straightforward. He hummed and hawed a bit and said he’d explain it fully when I arrived. There could be a whole raft of things we don’t know.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘That plaster should have set by now. I’ll lift the casts and open the gate for you.’
‘Right-oh,’ agreed Jack. He started the engine as Ashley climbed out. ‘By the way, don’t be surprised if I have a sudden lapse of memory about last night. You see, if he says positively he did hear a car engine, I know he’s telling bouncers.’
He parked the Spyker in the space in front of the outbuildings and, after stowing the plaster casts in the car, rang the bell.
The door was opened by the butler, a burly, middle-aged man. ‘Mr Vaughan, gentlemen? I’ll tell him you’ve arrived. He asked me to show you into the study. He’ll be with you shortly.’
The butler led the way through a hall adorned with various heads of animals mounted on wooden plaques. He paused and coughed deprecatingly before he opened the door, looking at Ashley. ‘Excuse me, sir, I hope you don’t mind me mentioning it, but my son’s in the force.’ Ashley looked at the butler with interest. ‘His name’s Oxley, sir. Sergeant Robert Oxley.’
‘Robert Oxley?’ said Ashley warmly. ‘He’s in London now, isn’t he? He’s a very able officer. You can be proud of him.’
‘We’re very proud of him, both me and my wife,’ said the butler, obviousl
y gratified by Ashley’s response. ‘My wife’s Mr Vaughan’s housekeeper. Robert’s mentioned you a few times, sir.’ He opened the door to the study and showed them in. ‘I’ll just tell Mr Vaughan you’re here, gentlemen.’
‘That could be useful,’ said Ashley, as the door closed behind the butler. ‘That he’s Bob Oxley’s father, I mean. It can be an uphill struggle at times, getting information out of the servants, but I won’t have any trouble.’ He looked round the study in appreciation. ‘There are some interesting things in here.’
The study was a spacious and comfortably cluttered room lit by French windows looking out on to the gardens. There were buttoned-down leather chairs, a desk, a large bookcase, shelves of pottery, various silver cups and, in a corner of the room, a substantial safe. An oar, bearing names and the date 1889, was hung on the wall over a framed photograph of a group of fresh-faced young men in boating costume. Photographs of some of the remote and high places of the world bore testament to Vaughan’s love of the outdoor life. The tiger-skin rug which lay, its teeth bared, in front of the fireplace, was presumably the same animal that appeared in a large photograph on the back wall. Vaughan stood with one foot negligently on the tiger’s shoulder, rifle in his hand.
‘He gets out and about, this chap, doesn’t he?’ said Ashley, gazing at the photographs with respect. He looked at the far wall, which was completely filled with books. ‘Is he a scholar as well, I wonder?’
‘According to old Lady Stuckley, he digs up dead bodies.’ Jack grinned at Ashley’s bewildered expression. ‘She said as much last night. Apparently Vaughan’s an archaeologist.’
Ashley’s face cleared. ‘I see. Tutankhamen, and so on.’ He looked at the pottery with interest, picking up a small terracotta dish. ‘It’s like a museum in here. Is this a lamp?’
A Hundred Thousand Dragons Page 5
