The Mystery of the Downs

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The Mystery of the Downs Page 11

by John R. Watson and Arthur J. Rees


  CHAPTER XI

  CREWE walked to the street known as Whitethorn Gardens, which helearned was situated in the older portion of the town, off the lessfashionable end of the front. It was a narrow street, steep of ascent,full of old stone houses of deserted appearance, which faced cobbledfootways from behind prim grass-plots. It looked like a place whichhad seen better days and was proud in its poverty, for very few"Apartments" cards were displayed in the old-fashioned bay windows.No. 41 was half-way up the street on the right-hand side, and wasdistinguished from its fellows by a magnolia in the centre of thegrass-plot, and two parallel close-clipped ivy screens which had beentrained to grow in panel fashion on both sides of the front door.

  Crewe walked up the gravel path and rang the bell. After a considerablepause, he rang again. His second ring brought a grim-faced servant tothe door, who, when he asked if her mistress was in, opened the doorand invited him to enter. She took him into a small sitting-room, andvanished with a gruff intimation that she would tell Mrs. Penfield.

  Five minutes elapsed before a woman entered the room noiselessly andstood before him. She was a woman of attractive appearance, aboutthirty, with clear grey eyes and well kept brown hair, and her gracefuland ladylike demeanour suggested that she was of superior class to thetype of womanhood usually associated with seaside apartment houses.

  "I understand that you are looking for apartments?" she said in apleasant voice.

  "No," said Crewe. "I came to see Mr. Brett."

  "He is not in," was the reply. Her smile had gone and her voice hadlost its ingratiating tone. She looked at Crewe steadily.

  "When do you expect him in?"

  "He is away."

  "When do you expect him back?"

  "I cannot say definitely when he will be back."

  "Do you expect him in the course of the next few days?"

  "He may come any time." Her suspicions were fully aroused, and with theobject of dismissing him and also extracting some information from himshe said, "And who shall I tell him called?"

  Crewe handed her a card and watched her as she read the name.

  "Mr. Crewe!" she exclaimed with a note of surprise and alarm in hervoice. "Not Mr. Crewe of--of London?"

  "I live in London," he replied.

  "Not Mr. Crewe, the--famous detective?"

  "That is my occupation," was the modest rejoinder.

  "Oh, I am pleased to see you," was her unexpected exclamation.She smiled as she looked him over. He was much younger and muchbetter-looking than the Mr. Crewe of her imagination, and these thingslessened her fear of him. "Inspector Murchison came down to see Mr.Brett on Saturday last, but he had gone away two days before," shesaid. "I promised the inspector I would send him word when Mr. Brettreturned." She seemed to have changed completely since learning Crewe'sname, and to be anxious to supply information.

  "I have seen Inspector Murchison," he said.

  "If I knew Mr. Brett's present address I would telegraph to him," shecontinued. "I don't think he can have heard of the murder of poor Mr.Lumsden, or he would have come back at once."

  "I have no doubt of that," said Crewe.

  "As of course you know, from the inspector, Mr. Brett is engaged fromtime to time on very important business of a confidential nature forthe Government. He has often been away for three weeks at a timewithout sending me as much as a postcard."

  "On what day did he go away?" asked Crewe.

  "On Thursday last--Thursday morning. It was on Friday night that Mr.Lumsden was killed, was it not?"

  "It was on Friday night that his body was discovered," said Crewe.

  "A dreadful crime," she continued.

  "Did Mr. Brett leave by train?" he asked.

  "Yes--that is, as far as I know. Oh, of course he must have gone bytrain. He only took a light suitcase with him, so I do not expect hewill be away very long."

  There was a pause during which she did some earnest thinking.

  "Perhaps you would like to look at Mr. Brett's rooms?"

  "If it is not too much trouble." He was suspicious of the change inher attitude after learning his name.

  She led the way upstairs and opened a door on the first landing.

  "This is his sitting-room," she said.

  It was a large, comfortably furnished room, with a window lookingonto the front garden. Crewe's keen eye took in the details of theinterior. The manner in which the room had been left suggested that itsowner intended to return. Several pipes and a box of cigars, nearlyfull, stood on a table near the fireplace. Beside them was a foldednewspaper, and on top of it was a novel.

  An arm-chair was drawn up close to the fire-place, and beside it was apair of slippers. Near the window was another table, on which there wasan open writing-desk containing notepaper, envelopes and pens. The roomlooked neat and tidy, as if for an occupant of regular habits who likedhis comfort to be studied. It was this impression which gave Crewe theclue to the landlady's invitation to inspect the apartments. If Bretthad anything to hide he could depend on the loyal support of Mrs.Penfield.

  Among the photographs which decorated the room, the one that claimedCrewe's attention was that which occupied the place of honour in thecentre of the mantelpiece. It was enclosed in a silver frame. He tookit in his hands to examine it closely, and glancing at Mrs. Penfield ashe lifted it down he saw her give a slight disdainful toss of her head.

  "A very pretty girl," said Crewe, looking critically at the photograph.

  "It is very flattering," was the cold comment of his companion.

  "But even allowing for that"--he left the sentence unfinished, asif unable to find words for his admiration of the subject of thephotograph. His real interest in the photograph was that he hadrecently seen the sitter, and was astonished to find that she had someconnection with Brett. "Do you know her?"

  "I have seen her. She came here several times to see Mr. Brett. Shecame to-day about an hour ago."

  "She didn't know that Mr. Brett had gone away?"

  It occurred to Mrs. Penfield that she had made a mistake involunteering this information--a mistake due to the feminine desire toconvey the impression that the subject of the photograph was in thehabit of running after Mr. Brett.

  "She wanted to know when he would be back," she answered hastily.

  "What is her name?" asked Crewe.

  "Miss Maynard."

  "Is she Mr. Brett's fiancee?"

  "I have heard some people say that they are engaged, but I never heardMr. Brett say so. At any rate, she doesn't wear an engagement ring."

  "That seems to settle it," said Crewe, who knew the value of sympathyin a jealous nature. "And this photograph, I presume, is one of Mr.Brett," he added, pointing to a photograph of a young man which stoodat the other end of the mantelpiece.

  Mrs. Penfield nodded without speaking.

  "Would you like to look at Mr. Brett's bedroom?" she asked after apause.

  "I may as well, now that I am here."

  She led the way to the door of another room and Crewe entered it.Here, again, there were many indications that the occupant of theroom did not expect to be absent for any great length of time. It wassmaller than the sitting-room, but it looked very cheerful and cosy.Behind the door a dressing-gown was hanging.

  Crewe's rapid inspection of the room showed him that there was noshaving tackle visible, and that there were no hair-brushes orclothes-brushes on the dressing-table. It was to be assumed from thesefacts that Mr. Brett had taken his brushes and shaving things with him.As far as appearances went, his departure had not been hurried.

  "A very nice set of rooms," said Crewe. "I think you said you promisedto let Inspector Murchison know when Mr. Brett returns. I shall get theinspector to ring me up when he hears from you. There are one or twoquestions I should like to ask Mr. Brett. When he comes back, will youplease tell him I called?"

  Crewe's next act was to get his car and visit the garage kept byGosford in High Street. Inside the building he saw the proprietorstanding b
y a large grey motor-car in the centre of the garage,watching a workman in blue overalls who was doing something to one ofthe wheels.

  "Not much the worse," said Crewe, nodding his head in the direction ofthe grey car, and addressing himself to the proprietor of the garage.

  Gosford, a short stout man, looked hard at him as he approached. He wasclean-shaven, and his puffed-out cheeks made his large face look like aball.

  Gosford again looked at Crewe out of his little black eyes, but saidnothing. His business caution acted as a curb on his natural geniality,for he had learnt by experience of the folly of giving information tostrangers until he knew what business brought them into the garage.

  "Not much the worse for its accident," said Crewe. "You were not longin getting it into repair."

  The proprietor's glance wandered backwards and forwards from the car tohis visitor.

  "As good as ever," he said. "Do you want to buy it?"

  "No," said Crewe. "I have one already." He nodded in the direction ofhis car outside.

  "She's a beauty," said Gosford. "But those Bodesly touring cars runinto a lot of money. You paid a big price for her, I'll be bound."

  "Oh, yes. You motor-car people are never reasonable--manufacturers,garage proprietors, repairers, you are all alike."

  "No, no, sir, we are very reasonable here. That is what I pride myselfon."

  "In that case I'll know where to bring my repairs. But to-day all Iwant is some petrol. That is what I came for, but when I saw this car Ithought I'd like to see what sort of job you had made of it. The lasttime I saw it was when it was lying in the ditch about six miles fromhere on the road to Ashlingsea."

  "Oh, you saw her there?" said Mr. Gosford genially. "But there wasn'tmuch the matter with her, beyond a bent axle."

  "I hope that is what you told the gentleman who left it there--Mr.----?"

  "Mr. Brett," said Mr. Gosford, coming to the relief of his visitor'sobvious effort to recall a name.

  "Ah, yes; Mr. Brett," said Crewe. "Was it Thursday or Friday that I methim on the Ashlingsea road in this car?"

  "Friday, sir. This car wasn't out on Thursday. Friday was the night ofthe big storm. She was out in it all night. I didn't know where she wasuntil Mr. Brett rang me up on Saturday morning."

  "So he was in Staveley on Saturday morning?"

  "No, no, sir. He said he was speaking from Lewes. He must have caughtan early train out from Staveley or Ashlingsea before we were open.That is why he didn't ring up before."

  Crewe, on leaving the garage, drove through the western outskirts ofthe town, and kept on till he passed the sand dunes, and the cliff roadstretched to Ashlingsea like a strip of white ribbon between the greendowns and grey sea. About a mile past the sand dunes he saw a smallstone cottage with a thatched roof, standing back on the downs aboutfifty yards from the road.

  Crewe stopped his car, and walked up the slope to the little cottage.The gate was open, and he walked through the tiny garden, which wascrowded with sweet-scented wallflowers and late roses, and knocked atthe door.

  His knock brought a woman to the door--an infirm and bent old woman,with scattered grey locks falling over her withered face. She peered upat him with rheumy eyes.

  Crewe looked at the old woman in some doubt whether she was not pastanswering any questions. Before he could put the point to the proof shesolved it for him by turning her head and crying in a shrill crackedvoice:

  "Harry, lad, come here and see to the gentleman."

  A man approached from the back in reply to the call. He was shortand stout, and his perspiring face and bare arms showed that he hadbeen hard at work. He looked at Crewe, made a movement of his knuckletowards his forehead, and waited for him to speak.

  "I am trying to get in touch with a friend of mine who I believemotored along this road on Friday last," said Crewe. "It was on Fridaynight that we had the big storm. He must have driven along here onFriday afternoon; he was driving a big grey car. Did you see him?"

  "Friday afternoon?" the man repeated. "I'm just trying to get mybearings a bit. Yes, Friday was the night we had the storm, and Fridaywas the day I seen this gentleman I'm thinking of."

  "In a grey car?" suggested Crewe.

  "In a grey car, as you say, sir. There ain't so many cars pass alongthis road this time of year."

  "Then you saw a grey car go past in the direction of Ashlingsea onFriday afternoon?" said Crewe. He put a hand in his trousers pocket andjingled the silver there.

  "I did," exclaimed the other, with the positiveness of a man who hadawakened to the fact that he possessed valuable information for whichhe was to be paid, "I was standing here at this very door after sellingtwo bushels of apples to Mr. Hope, and was just thinking about goingback to dig some more taters, when I happened to hear a motor-carcoming along. It was the grey car, sure enough, sir. No doubt aboutthat."

  "And was there anyone with my friend--or was he alone in the car?"

  This was a puzzling question, because it contained no indication of theanswer wanted.

  "I can't say I noticed anybody at the time, cos I was thinking moreabout my taters--it's a bit late to be getting up taters, as you know,sir. I'd left 'em over late through having so much thatching to do,there being so few about as can thatch now that the war is on, andnot many at the best o' times--thatching being a job as takes time tolearn. My father he was best thatcher they ever did have hereabouts,and it was him taught me."

  "And there was no one but my friend in the car?"

  "I couldn't say that I did see any one, my mind being more on taters,but, mind you, sir, there might have been. Your friend he went pastso quickly I didn't rightly see into the car--not from here. It ain'treasonable to expect it, is it, sir?"

  "No, of course not," said Crewe. "I'm very much obliged to you." Heproduced half a crown and handed it to the man.

  "Thank you, sir." The unexpected amount of his reward had a stimulatingeffect. "I'll tell you a strange thing about your friend, sir, now thatI've had time to think about it. I hadn't dug more'n a row, or perhaps arow and a half of my taters, when I seen him coming back again."

  "Coming back again?" exclaimed Crewe. "Surely not."

  "Yes, sir; the same grey car."

  "Driving back in the direction of Staveley?"

  "Driving back along the road he'd come."

  "And this would be less than an hour after you saw him pass the firsttime?"

  "Not more'n half-hour. I reckon it don't take me full twenty minutes todig a row o' taters."

  "But the grey car I mean didn't go back past here to Staveley," saidCrewe. "It was wrecked on Friday night about four miles from here inthe direction of Ashlingsea."

  "That's right," exclaimed the man, with childish delight. "Didn't Isee it go past here noon Saturday--another car drawing it because itwouldn't work. I said to myself, something's gone wrong with it."

  "But, according to your story, it was driven back to Staveley thatafternoon. The car you saw going back to Staveley could not have beenthe car that was wrecked on Friday, unless the driver turned roundagain and went back towards Ashlingsea--but that seems impossible."

  "That's what he did, sir. That's what I was going to tell you, onlyI hadn't come to it. What I said was, I hadn't dug more'n a row andhalf of taters after dinner afore I see this car coming back Staveleyway, and when I'd got to end of second row I happened to look up theroad and there was this car coming back again. I didn't know whatto think--that is, at first. I stood there with the fork in my handthinking and thinking and saying to myself I'd not give it up--I'm arare one, sir, when I make up my mind. I don't wonder it's puzzledyou, sir, just as it puzzled me. What has he been driving up and downfor--backwards and forwards? That's how it puzzled me. Then it came tome quite sudden like--he'd lost something and had drove back along theroad until he found it."

 

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