by Miles Burton
Young took a writing pad from his suit-case, and sat down to write the following letter:—
My dear Merrion,—Take out the sheet of the Ordnance Survey of East Anglia, and look along the coast till you find the River Elder. About six miles from its mouth is a little village called High Eldersham. A mile west of the village is the old road from Gippingford northwards. On this road, where a side road runs off into High Eldersham, you will find the word ‘Inn.’ The name of the inn is the Rose and Crown, and that is where I am at present.
The landlord of this inn was murdered yesterday evening (March 31st) in a particularly brutal manner. The local police communicated with the Yard, and I was sent down to investigate. I arrived shortly before three o’clock this afternoon (Saturday). The inquest is to take place here at eleven o’clock on Monday, and, if you can possibly manage to be present, I will see that a seat is reserved for you.
You will ask why in heaven’s name you should take the trouble to attend an inquest in such a remote spot upon a man you never heard of. Well, frankly, I can’t tell you. All that I can say definitely is that I believe that the identification of the murderer is not going to be as easy as it sounds. My own efforts, so far, have not been crowned with any conspicuous success. I have employed my time following up a most promising clue, which has certainly led me to the discovery of a murder, but of a pig, not a man.
Seriously, my dear fellow, if you can possibly spare the time, I should be very much relieved to have you here and to consult you. It is not exactly the murder itself which worries me, but the surrounding conditions. There is something mysterious about the whole of this countryside, something which I cannot possibly fathom, but which seems to me is more or less in your line, and may possibly interest you. I can’t get away from a wild and insane idea which I dare not even hint to you, lest you should think I had gone clean off my head. If there is anything in it, which, to a reasonable man, seems utterly unthinkable, High Eldersham holds one of the most remarkable secrets of recent years.
I’m not going to say any more, hoping that what I have said will be enough to arouse your curiosity. I repeat, if you possibly can, drive down on Monday, and we will have a chat after the inquest.
Yours,
Robert Young
Chapter VI
Inspector Young was busily engaged in cooking himself some breakfast on the following morning, when a knock upon the door announced the arrival of Viney.
“Come in, Viney!” said the Inspector cheerfully. “Had your breakfast? You have? All right, you can sit down and watch me eat mine. That’s right. Now, what have you got to report?”
“There’s no doubt that Portch’s story about the pig is right, sir,” replied the constable. “I made inquiries round the village after I left you last night, sir, and I’ve traced most of the pork. And I’ve found a couple of chaps who saw Portch and Hosier in Portch’s back yard about ten o’clock that night.”
“Well, that seems to settle the matter, and we’ll have to start afresh,” remarked the Inspector. “Now, there’s one thing I should like to be clear about. Portch had a grievance against Whitehead, on account of his having been turned out of here on one occasion. I gather that he threatened—or, if he didn’t actually threaten, he abused—Whitehead in consequence. Do you know of anybody else in the neighbourhood who had any grievance against the dead man?”
“No, sir, I don’t. As I told you at first, Mr. Whitehead was a man who was generally liked in the village. And, as you will understand, sir, that was very exceptional for a stranger.”
The Inspector smiled, but said nothing for several seconds. His mind was obviously pursuing a train of thought from which an effort was needed to recall it.
“Well, look here, Viney,” he said at last. “Even though Portch’s alibi is established, we haven’t done with him. He and Hosier, if they left here together, were the last people who saw Whitehead alive. We shall have to get some sort of statement from them. I didn’t question them last night, for I don’t think Portch was capable of giving a coherent answer. But I would like to see them this morning, before the Chief Constable comes. Slip down and fetch them up for me.”
Viney departed, and duly returned with the men in question. But if Young had expected to extract any information of value from them, he was disappointed. All he could learn, in spite of the most adroit questioning, was that they had left the inn together between half-past nine and twenty-five minutes to ten, and walked straight down the road to Portch’s cottage. There had been no other customers in the house when they left, Whitehead had gone so far as to compliment Portch on his behaviour, and had told him that as long as he conducted himself properly, as he had that evening, there was no objection to his frequenting the bar of the Rose and Crown, or words to that effect. The three had been sitting round the fire, Whitehead in the chair in which his body was found, and when Portch and Hosier rose to leave, Whitehead got up and followed them to the door. The last they saw of him as they went down the road was his figure standing in the doorway. It was also established that Portch had not the knife with him when he visited the Rose and Crown. His first action on reaching home had been to take it out of the drawer of the dresser and sharpen it in preparation for the slaughter of the pig.
The Inspector had hardly dismissed the pair when Colonel Bateman arrived in his car. He was, as Young observed with relief, alone. He walked into the kitchen, and took up his position, with legs wide apart, in front of the fire which the Inspector had lighted. “Well, and how are you getting on?” he asked genially.
“Not very fast, so far, sir,” replied Young. “It didn’t take us long to pick up a scent, but it proved to be a false one.” The Inspector gave an account of Portch’s actions and their detection, at which Colonel Bateman laughed heartily.
“Well, Inspector, you’ve already ferreted out a crime that probably would not have been discovered without you,” he said. “You say that you’re satisfied that these men Portch and Hosier had nothing to do with the murder. But I suppose, in spite of the apparent absence of motive, that you are satisfied that somebody in the village did it?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” replied the Inspector. “We must not forget that this house stands on a through road, although it does not appear to be much used. Since I have been here, I have seen about a dozen cars drive past, to say nothing of carts and bicycles. What I mean, sir, is that people pass here without having any business with High Eldersham, or going down into the village. It is quite possible that sombody passed along the road soon after the departure of Portch and Hosier. If Whitehead had left the door open and returned to his chair, that person might have seen him.”
“Then crept in through the open door and murdered him with a knife which he happened to have handy,” said the Chief Constable. “It is possible, of course. But, frankly, you don’t think it’s likely, do you, Inspector?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe it was a stranger who committed the murder. I believe that the motive is to be found locally, and I believe that I can guess what it was. But as to the ownership of the hand which struck the blow I am at present completely in the dark.”
Rather a puzzled look came into Colonel Bateman’s face at this somewhat cryptic statement. “Well, Inspector, the case is in your hands, and I’m not going to butt in with injudicious questions,” he remarked. “By the way, I have seen the Coroner again, and had a chat with him. He has decided, in view of the fact that the crime almost certainly involves some person or persons in the village, that it will be better not to summon a local jury. He will therefore sit without a jury. You will have your witnesses ready, I suppose. Now, unless I can be of any further use to you, I will get back to Gippingford.”
“There’s one thing I will ask you to do, sir,” replied Young. “I am very anxious that this letter should be delivered in London by the first post to-morrow morning. If you would be good enough to hand it in at Gippingford Stati
on for postage at Liverpool Street, I should be very grateful.”
“Of course, I’ll willingly do that for you,” said Colonel Bateman. “You’re quite sure that there’s nothing else you want? All right, then, I’ll be off.”
But the Inspector was destined to have other visitors that Sunday. Less than an hour after the Chief Constable’s departure a hired car drove up to the Rose and Crown, from which descended an individual with a couple of large suit-cases. The Inspector admitted him, and the two stood for a moment regarding one another, the newcomer with an expression of veiled mistrust.
“Are you the chap what’s in charge of the case of this poor chap, Whitehead?” he asked after a pause.
“Yes, I am Detective-Inspector Young. You are the new tenant of the Rose and Crown, I suppose?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. You might say, in a manner of speaking, that I’m the old tenant. ’Tis like this, you see. Mr. George Thorold, he comes to me yesterday in a terrible stew. I keeps the Tower of London in Gippingford, you must understand. ‘Dunsford,’ he says to me, ‘if you’ll do something to oblige me, I’ll see that you’re not a loser by it.’ Well, Mr. George has always been very good to me. ‘If I can do anything to oblige you, sir, you know I’ll do it,’ I says. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘a terrible thing has happened. Poor Whitehead out at the Rose and Crown at High Eldersham has been murdered, and there’s no one to look after the house. Could you go over there and keep it open for me for a few days? Mrs. Dunsford and Dick can look after the Tower of London while you’re away, and if they want help I’ll pay for it. I’ll find a tenant for the Rose and Crown as soon as I can, I promise you.’
“I thinks to myself that it’ll be a bit awkward, for trade’s pretty brisk at the Tower of London, and the missus isn’t as spry as she used to be. But Dick’s a good lad, and knows his way about. Besides, I’d go a long way to do a good turn to Mr. George, and there’s nobody knows more about the Rose and Crown than me, seeing as I kept it for twenty years or thereabouts, and my dad before me. So I tells Mr. George I’d be over this morning, and here I am.”
The Inspector listened to Dunsford’s explanation with interest. It occurred to him that this man’s presence might prove very useful. His long residence in the place must have rendered him more thoroughly acquainted with the village and its inhabitants even than Viney. And, now that he had deserted it in favour of Gippingford, he would probably have lost the parochial instincts which might have hindered him from imparting information to a stranger.
“I’m very glad you’ve come, Mr. Dunsford,” he said heartily. “I slept in Whitehead’s room last night, but, of course, I’ll give that up to you now. You won’t mind if I fix myself up in one of the other rooms, will you?”
It seemed to the Inspector that Dunsford hesitated for an instant before he replied. But, when he did so, his voice was cordial enough. “That’ll be all right,” he said. “We’ll get along well enough together, I dare say. Are you likely to be here long?”
“I can’t say. It depends on the progress I make with the case. But there’s nothing to prevent you carrying on exactly as if I wasn’t here.”
That afternoon, while Dunsford was busy settling in and taking stock, the Inspector, leaving Viney at the Rose and Crown, set out upon a tour of exploration. He walked through the village, unobtrusively observing the inhabitants as they stood about discussing the tragedy. He then went further afield, and, with the help of a map which the Chief Constable had given him, identified the principal features of the surrounding country. It was not until he had made himself thoroughly familiar with the lie of the land that he returned, in time to share the excellent supper provided by Dunsford. He spent the rest of the evening talking to his host, who displayed the greatest readiness to gossip about the inhabitants of the parish. When he went to bed he felt that his knowledge of High Eldersham and its population was already extensive. But he had learnt nothing which tended to throw any light upon the identity of Whitehead’s murderer.
On the following morning the Inspector and Viney were kept busy arranging for the inquest. It was to be held in a large room above the old stables of the Rose and Crown, used occasionally as a club room. Long before eleven o’clock the road outside the inn was thronged by a crowd of the curious, waiting for admission. Colonel Bateman arrived in his car, bringing with him Superintendent Bass, Dr. Barrett, and the Coroner. A short consultation ensued between them and the Inspector, and then Viney was instructed to open the doors of the club room to the public.
The Inspector stood beside him as the audience filed in, listening to his whispered identifications. “That’s Mr. Hollesley, sir, him what lives at Elder House,” said Viney, as a tall, dark man of about thirty-five came in. “The chap he’s talking to is old Fairbairn, who rents the home farm from him. I heard he was going up to London to-day, but I expect he’s stopped to see the proceedings. Ah, and here’s Sir William, with his daughter, Miss Mavis. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll find them a couple of chairs. They won’t like to sit on these hard benches.”
Young nodded, and Viney made his way across the room. Sir William Owerton was an elderly man with white hair and the rather absent-minded look of the student. But it was his daughter who attracted the Inspector’s attention. Mavis Owerton would have been noticeable anywhere, with her fair hair and blue eyes, which are generally accepted as the type of English beauty. In this bare prosaic room, surrounded by the rather stolid countenances of the East Anglians, she seemed like some goddess descended among mortals, even the unsusceptible Inspector was moved to admiration. “By Jove!” he muttered. “That’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen!”
It was immediately apparent that his admiration was shared by Mr. Hollesley. That gentleman, whose eyes had never left the door of the room, abruptly broke off his conversation with Fairbairn at the entrance of the Owertons, and made his way through the crowd to meet them. He escorted them to the chairs which Viney had placed for them and sat down on a bench just behind Mavis. She nodded to him, rather offhandedly, Young thought, and then leant across to speak to an old man in the next row. Sir William, however, turned round in his chair and engaged Laurence Hollesley in earnest conversation, to which the latter appeared to listen with ill-concealed impatience.
The significance of the incident was not lost upon the Inspector, in spite of the fact that his attention was divided between it and the faces of the people still filing in through the door. “Looks as though she wasn’t as keen on him as he is on her,” he said to himself. “He’s a good-looking fellow enough, but I dare say a girl like that has more than one string to her bow, even though she lives in an outlandish place like this. But I wonder what’s happened to Merrion? He’s pretty sure to come along, if he got my letter. I wonder if the old boy remembered to take it to the station?”
His attention was diverted by a sharp rapping of the table, and he glided to the door and posted himself at it. Silence having been obtained, the Coroner opened the proceedings. He explained that he was sitting to inquire into the circumstances surrounding the death of Samuel Whitehead. He had viewed the body, and would proceed to call witnesses. The first was Constable Viney, of the local police force.
Viney was about to take the oath, when the door at the back of the room opened. The audience turned as one man at the sound, and saw Inspector Young escort a stranger to a vacant seat at the back. The newcomer was short but powerfully built, with an expression which seemed to denote complete boredom. He winked at the Inspector, and took his seat with an air of comical resignation, as though accepting some unwelcome penance.
The proceedings, thus momentarily interrupted, were resumed. Viney gave his evidence, and was followed by Doctor Padfield, Doctor Barrett, Portch, Hosier and the Inspector himself, each shepherded into place by Superintendent Bass. Nothing fresh transpired, in spite of the persistent questioning of the Coroner, a little man with a self-important manner
. He finally summed up in a rather pompous speech, and delivered his verdict. “Wilful murder by some person or persons unknown.”
The verdict was hardly out of his mouth when Laurence Hollesley slipped from his seat and made his way rapidly to the back of the room. The stranger rose to meet him, and the two men shook hands. “Why, good lord, Merrion, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you come in!” exclaimed Hollesley. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question,” replied Merrion. “When I last saw you you were commanding a M.L. in the Dover Patrol. I certainly never expected to see you attending an inquest in a village pub somewhere beyond the end of the world.”
“My dear chap, I live here,” said Hollesley. “Didn’t you know? Look here, I’ve got to dash up to town this afternoon, but there’s just time for you to come to my place and have lunch. Then you can tell me all about it.”
“Well, that’s very good of you,” replied Merrion. “I was just wondering if this local pub of yours ran to bread and cheese. If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll run my car into the yard.”
“I’ll come with you, my car’s in the yard too,” agreed Hollesley. The two left the room together, Merrion without bestowing as much as a glance upon the Inspector.
The latter watched their departure, an expression of bewilderment upon his face. “Well, I’m damned!” he exclaimed softly.
Chapter VII
It was nearly three o’clock before Inspector Young, waiting uneasily at the Rose and Crown, saw a car stop outside the inn, and Merrion descend from it. He observed that Hollesley was driving the car, and when it had moved on, he went out and joined his friend.
“You’re a nice chap!” he said indignantly. “I ask you to come down here because I want to talk to you, and the first thing you do is to clear off and lunch with somebody else. Perhaps you can spare me a few minutes of your valuable time now?”
