Crossword Mystery

by E. R. Punshon

  He had actually gone to the trouble of hunting up the old lady in question – a Mrs. Shipman – to tell her she had been a fool to part with good solid gold for bits of paper, and to say that if anyone else in the village had any gold put away, they had better keep it against a day, surely not far distant, when gold would be seen to be just gold, and paper just paper. Only let them, he had said – and the advice had been fully in accord with their own way of thinking – let them keep it well hidden, or else they might find a Government official suddenly swooping down to confiscate it.

  “He said as over in America,” observed the aged man who told Bobby all this, “they’ve started doing that already – making it against the law to keep your own gold your own self.” He added the profound and unanswerable reflection: “But what I says is, America ain’t us and we ain’t them.”

  Towards the dead Archibald the general feeling seemed to have been the reverse; he had been well enough liked but not at all respected. He had been free with his money; free, too, with his talk; and a little too forgetful of the reserve and dignity villagers are generally inclined to consider should accompany any intercourse between themselves and their social superiors. For instance, he had not been above telling or listening to a bawdy story, and, though the story might be appreciated, and have no great harm in it for that matter, the thing was not approved in a gentleman of Mr. Archibald Winterton’s wealth and standing. More serious was the fact that his friendly interest in his humble neighbours had been more specially marked when they happened to be of the sex once called the weaker, and were also young and pretty.

  This last piece of information, that came out rather slowly and reluctantly – first a hint and then in fuller detail in response to Bobby’s clever, indirect questioning – he was inclined to think interesting; more than interesting, perhaps. Was it possible that here lay the sought-for clue? Had that interest been pushed too far in some particular case, and had it been resented – resented perhaps to the last extremity? Bobby tried his best to find out if any such suspicions had been aroused, but without success. It did not seem as if Archibald had ever gone much further than showing a partiality for stopping to talk to any pretty girl he met, and assuring her of her good looks, and a tendency to buy his fish, or hire his boats, or employ on odd jobs, members of the families which could boast the pretty girls among their members. On the surface, harmless enough, if a little undignified; but Bobby wondered very much if something more might not lie behind. One thing at least was soon apparent – that Archibald’s death had given rise to much gossip and comment. It seemed the general feeling that there was something about it not quite natural, not very easily explicable. Everyone knew he had been familiar with the sea in all its moods; a good sailor, an excellent and cautious swimmer. His death by drowning on that calm, tranquil sunny morning, was hard to understand. Apparently there had been a good deal of discussion as to what had actually happened, but so far no satisfactory theory had been advanced.

  “Cramp,” most people were content to say in order to have some sort of satisfactory solution they could rest their minds on; but then Bobby had been assured on good authority that cramp was no danger in itself to any practised swimmer.

  “Something must have happened somehow,” remarked a younger man who had joined them. “With the sea, you never know what’ll happen. If it hadn’t been along of me seeing old Mother Shipman’s unlucky black cat, and hurting my leg the way I did, I should have been out there about when he must have got carried away, and very like I should have been able to help him.”

  “You mean if you hadn’t run after the poor brute to stone it,” observed the older man, “you wouldn’t have tumbled over Ted Davis’s anchor, and got laid up with a cut leg for your pains.”

  “I thought seeing a black cat meant good luck,” observed Bobby.

  “Not that there wicked beast of old Mother Shipman’s,” retorted the young man. “Bad luck that beast brings, if any ever did, more especial when you’re going to the fishing.”

  “The same day she got it,” explained the other man, “the Suffby Belle went down with three of our lads that were never seen again, and folk remembered how that black cat had been walking round and round, miaowing and crying, all the time they was getting off. No one else here has ever cared to have a black cat since, nor wouldn’t dare, but Mother Shipman thinks the world of hers.”

  “If it hadn’t been for she,” the young man asserted, “I should have been out there in my boat when the poor gentleman was drowning.”

  “You can’t tell that,” the other objected.

  “It was just six exact when I cut my leg on that anchor Ted Davis ought to be summonsed for leaving lying about the way he does,” the young man said, “for I heard Miss Raby’s alarm go off in Bob Adams’s, and she always sets it for six. That means,” he repeated obstinately, “but for the cat prowling and miaowing around, just as it did that other time and me trying to drive it away, I should have been out there just in the nick of time.”

  Bobby left them arguing the point and strolled on to chat with another ancient he saw mending nets a little way away. He was growing excited; his mind was very busy; it was almost as though a flash of light had passed for a moment across the black chaos of his thoughts. But he wanted another point of view, and from the aged mender of nets he got confirmation of the story that Archibald Winterton had been inclined to show himself a little too friendly towards some of the village girls. Jealousy and resentment might, Bobby thought, account for much, and yet he could get no hint that Archibald’s philandering had either been meant or taken very seriously. It had not apparently been considered anything more than silly and undignified. And, when Bobby dropped the question casually, he learned that Archibald’s dog, the missing Towser, had always regarded all the villagers as intruders and potential enemies, and certainly would not have allowed one to approach his master without very loud and fierce protest. The animal’s silence seemed fair presumptive proof that none of the villagers at least had been near the scene of the tragedy on that fatal morning.

  Presently one or two more men strolled up – probably, like Mrs. Cooper on Bobby’s first arrival at Fairview, anxious to form their own impressions of the new-comer. Bobby managed to turn the conversation on motor-boats, and found there was a strong prejudice against them as being unreliable and lubberly. A new theory was put forward concerning Archibald Winterton’s death – that he had been run down by one, which had then gone on without stopping; “just as them motorists do,” interjected one of the group.

  To this it was objected that no motor-boat had been seen or heard of in the neighbourhood since considerably earlier in the year. At this there was a good deal of smiling and winking, and Bobby finally succeeded in discovering that what amused them was the fate which had on that occasion befallen the unlucky police constable, Jennings, who had, as Bobby knew, been assaulted and tied up to a tree the morning of the motor-boat’s arrival.

  Bobby asked what the boat had come for, and no one seemed to have any idea. He asked straight out if it was a case of smuggling, but no one seemed to think that likely.

  “No way of getting the stuff away from here,” was the general verdict, and Bobby felt pretty sure they meant what they said, while it was fairly clear that in that small and closely connected community none of them could have engaged themselves in such an operation without everyone else in the village knowing all about it.

  Indeed, it seemed the general opinion that smuggling was a game not worth the trouble and the risk involved.

  “If you do have a bottle or two of brandy or a pound of ’baccy to sell,” observed one man who sounded as if at one time he had had some experience, “you get asked questions till you don’t know where you are, and then the police come along and turn everything upside down – it ain’t worth it.”

  Another man put forward the theory that possibly the motorboat had come from abroad and had landed some refugee, and this seemed to be accepted as a more likely e
xplanation. Two or three of the men agreed that in almost any Continental port offers were often made of liberal payment by persons who for one reason or another wanted to enter the country without the knowledge or permission of the immigration authorities.

  “If it was only that,” Bobby observed, “I don’t see why it should have been necessary to attack the policeman and tie him up the way you say happened.”

  No one had any clear explanation to offer, except that it was to give the hypothetical refugee a chance to get away safely. It was not an explanation that seemed very satisfactory to Bobby, for why assault and tie up a man it would have been perfectly easy to avoid? The conversation drifting on, Bobby discovered that two of the group were enthusiastic wireless amateurs and really knew something about the subject – a good deal more than Bobby did himself. One of them, a man named Gates, was quite learned about atmospherics and so on, and in this connection the name of the ill-treated Jennings cropped up again. It seemed he, too, was an enthusiast, and was the happy possessor of a marvellous and expensive new set, recently purchased.

  “Must have cost pounds,” declared Gates enviously, “pounds and pounds. My old woman would have something to say if I spent all that on a new set.”

  “So did his; fair gave it him, she did,” declared another man, grinning broadly. “He said he saved it out of his ’baccy money – as if she would swallow a yarn like that. He had backed a winner, if you ask me, though naturally, of course, he didn’t want to say.”

  “Why not?” asked Bobby. “Doesn’t Mrs. Jennings like betting?”

  “Oh, it isn’t that,” explained Gates, “only he’s in the police. Of course, they all do it; pass a slip to a bookie theirselves one minute and run him in the next, they will. But they mustn’t say they do it; betting, I mean.”

  “Has he had the set long?” Bobby asked carelessly, and learnt only a few weeks.

  It was drawing on towards lunch-time now, and Bobby strolled back to Fairview, where he found all the household – Mr. Winterton, young Colin Ross, Miss Raby, the Coopers, Mrs. Adams, and the day-girl, Jane – all clustered round the dead body of the Airedale. It had been found floating in the sea, its head battered in and a deep knife-thrust in the side that must have reached the poor brute’s heart.

  One of the searchers for Bobby’s watch had found the dead animal floating in the sea near the shore and had brought the news. Much disturbed, Mr. Winterton had called Colin to help him – Cooper was out of the way at the moment – and they had gone down and brought in the body. Bobby joined the group, heard the story of the discovery, and listened to the different theories that were being put forward. Colin thought someone in the village the dog had either bitten or frightened must be responsible, but Mrs. Cooper was sure none of the villagers would do such a thing. Cooper thought it must have been some tramp, though tramps were rare in that lonely place and none had been seen lately. Miss Raby said nothing, but looked scared and ill at easy, and Mr. Winterton also had little to say. He seemed very puzzled, and declared moodily he could not understand it, and, though Bobby asked a good many questions, he elicited no new fact.

  A heavy blow with a club or stone had smashed in the animal’s head, and a knife-thrust had then done the rest. That the body had been in the water some time was evident, so that the thing had probably happened the previous evening. At any rate, no one seemed to remember having seen the dog after the boisterous greeting it had given Bobby on his arrival.

  Mr. Winterton talked of offering a reward for the discovery of the guilty person, and Bobby, standing looking at the creature’s body lying there in the middle of the lawn, was aware of a profound unease. A sense of dread and depression was upon him; he felt alone and afraid, for it seemed to him this thing was ominous. It was as though he sensed a warning, a warning of a darker tragedy to come. He took an opportunity to draw Mr. Winterton aside. He said to him:

  “I don’t understand this, Mr. Winterton, and I don’t like it either. I think we had better be careful. If you don’t mind, I wish you would promise me not to go out alone at present; to be as little alone, in fact, as you can. I’ll ’phone my chief this afternoon, though not from here, to tell him what’s happened. And I think to-night you had better have the door and window of your room well closed.”

  Mr. Winterton, a little pale, promised all this, and Bobby noticed that his appetite at lunch was very poor.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Recovered Watch

  Luncheon was indeed that day a somewhat silent and gloomy meal, as if the shadow of coming catastrophe lay heavily upon them all. For once Colin seemed to have something else to think of than odds and weights and starting-prices. Mr. Winterton hardly spoke, and Miss Raby had entirely lost her appetite. Bobby, too, was oppressed by the dim menace he felt somehow implicit in the killing of the dog, and once, when he looked at Mr. Winterton, he had the strange impression that he saw him sitting there as a dead man.

  The illusion was so strong that he nearly cried out aloud, but at that moment Mr. Winterton turned and spoke and Bobby was ashamed to think that he, a member of the C.I.D., whose first duty is to be hard-headed and clear-thinking, should have given way to such childish fancies. Yet for the moment it had really seemed to him that a corpse was sitting there, and, though he struggled hard to thrust the impression aside, none the less he knew that it had profoundly shaken him.

  Even Cooper seemed to feel the general unease, and showed himself nervous and forgetful. When he was pouring out some wine for his master, his hand shook so that he spilled some on the table-cloth, and when presently he came in with a telegram it might have been a sentence of death he had on the tray he carried, so ghastly pale was his face, so uncontrolled the nervous twitching of his eye and a new trembling now showing at the corners of his mouth.

  But Mr. Winterton, after he had opened and read the telegram, and told Cooper there was no reply, seemed suddenly to grow much more cheerful and composed. The telegram itself he put away very carefully in his pocket-book, and then grew quite animated, asking Bobby how he had spent his morning, asking Colin what good tips he had to give away for all of them to make their fortunes with, and telling Miss Raby they would have to try to put in a good afternoon’s work.

  “We’ve been making very poor progress,” he declared; “we’ll have to brisk up if the book’s to be published this side of Christmas.”

  To this new mood of his the others did not respond very well, and then, just as they were rising from the table, Cooper appeared again to say that a young woman from the village would like to see Mr. Owen, as she had found a watch on the foreshore and thought it might be his.

  “Ah, good,” exclaimed Mr. Winterton. “Who is it, Cooper?”

  “Laura Shipman, sir,” the butler answered.

  Bobby noted the name; he remembered it was that of the old woman who was the owner of the supposedly unlucky black cat the villagers didn’t seem to like and who had also been the first recipient of Mr. Winterton’s general warning against ever parting with gold. Also he had seen Mr. Winterton start perceptibly when he heard the name given, though he had recovered himself immediately and was now making a joke about drinking a glass of wine to a “happy return of the day.” All the same, Bobby was fairly sure the name had meant something to him.

  In the hall Bobby found waiting a tall young woman, of somewhat striking appearance, and with handsome, well-formed features. She had dark hair, and dark, flashing eyes, and a skin, naturally dark, that had been further tanned by the sun and the sea air, and, though Bobby was like most young men, and found it difficult to believe that a pretty face could hide a soul anything but pretty, or a charming smile to be false, yet he found, or fancied he found, something eager and greedy in those black glittering eyes and something very hard in the set of those thin lips. But he thought that might be merely preconceived prejudice, and he tried his best to be very amiable, even to appear a little struck with her charms, as he thanked her for returning the watch and fumbled to find i
n his pocket the reward he had promised.

  Intensely did he wonder as he did so what errand it was had brought this village girl here in the middle of the night and what it was had been discussed in that strange interview upon the lawn.

  There was Colin Ross, too. Did he know, or suspect, this girl had been the other person present? That was, of course, assuming that it was really Colin who had been the second witness to whose presence the cautiously closing front door that night had testified. Certainly Colin had not seemed to show any sign of recognition when the girl’s name had been mentioned, but, then, Bobby had been too taken up watching Mr. Winterton to have had much attention to spare for Colin.

  Quickly he made up his mind it would be more prudent not to make any attempt at present to question the girl. It would be better to know more about her first, and then he would have a better idea of how to approach her. Perhaps, too, his superiors might prefer to take over themselves the task of questioning her, allowing Bobby still to stay in the background. After all, a good deal of caution and discretion would have to be shown. The mere fact of a nocturnal meeting might have some perfectly simple and natural explanation, and, in any case, it was not one that itself came within the reach of the law.