by Vernon Loder
‘They denied it to Grover, and I don’t want to let them know of this in any case. But I said “certain” times, not all times. At night, you could go quietly round the house, and even into the kitchen, without seeing anyone.’
‘By Jove, you’re right, Carton!’ cried Mr Barley. ‘You certainly see further into a brick wall than most of us. Go on!’
‘I’m going on, to the cupboard,’ said Carton. ‘Will you show it me? Grover said it was under the stairs.’
‘I know it,’ said Mr Barley. ‘We won’t need an extra light. There is a switch, and a small bulb there.’
Carton hurried across the room, unlocked the door, went back to fetch the ladder, and, carrying it horizontally, followed in the wake of his host.
No one was in the hall, Grover had disappeared. Guided by Barley, Carton and the step-ladder proceeded towards the rear of the house into a passage where the secondary staircase to the servants’ bedrooms ascended.
‘It’s in here,’ said Mr Barley, turning a small knob on the panelling that shut in the stairs.
Like all cupboards of its kind, this had a ceiling at an angle corresponding to that of the stairs themselves, but it was not high enough at any point to accommodate the step-ladder when standing upright.
Mr Barley switched on a light inside, and Carton examined the interior swiftly, since he knew what he was looking for.
‘You see those spikes in the back wall,’ he said to Mr Barley. ‘Those are to hang the ladder on. It folds up, and ought to be suspended there along the wall.’
‘I see that.’
‘Yes, but to manœuvre the ladder into the cupboard, and hang it there, is a job that takes a little time, and may make some noise, if the end of the ladder swung round and hit the frame of the door.’
His host assented. ‘But Carton, if the person who took it out wanted to hide his work, would he not take some trouble?’
‘There was no need, perhaps,’ said Carton. ‘My point is that the ladder was found by you in the kitchen because the person who took it from here, presumably in the night, thought it would be quicker to leave it in the kitchen.’
‘But, if it was originally here, the person who came for it must have been familiar with the house.’
‘That’s true. That is the ugly part of it. We’ll keep this to ourselves for the moment.’
Mr Barley frowned. ‘Certainly,’ he said. But he remembered that he had shown Miss Gurdon over the house on the day after her arrival, and hoped that she might not be involved after all.
Carton switched off the light, after returning the ladder to the wall spikes, and returned with Mr Barley to the library.
‘It’s rather mysterious that the police have not returned here lately,’ he said. ‘I don’t like it at all. It shows that they not only have a clue, as I told you, but that they are banking on it strongly. They think they have seen everything that is to be seen above, and now they are turning their attention elsewhere.’
‘To London, Carton. I don’t like that either. If they have actually sent a man to spy on Tollard’s house, they must link him up in some way with the affair. His alibi, I should have thought, would have satisfied them.’
‘Well, there are two ways of looking at it. I should say that all their investigations in town are directed to finding that there was bad blood between Tollard and his wife. That involves Miss Gurdon by inference. There’s no doubt that their examination of Mrs Gailey and Miss Sayers put them on that track. I don’t really blame those two young women so much. They were taken off their guard, they had heard the gossip, and didn’t want to tell lies—probably they tried to hedge after, and so made Fisher suspicious.’
‘I understand that they did hedge.’
‘Fatal,’ said Carton, ‘If you have anything to say, say it, and be done! Withdrawals are dangerous.’
‘I quite agree with you. Still I don’t think I saw enough to make me believe Tollard and his wife were really—’
‘On such bad terms,’ Carton interrupted. ‘But that we cannot decide. The thing now is to get busy with this new point. Someone wanted to get one of those poisoned darts. He had to climb up to the trophy on the wall to secure one. From what I saw of the quiver, a dart might be drawn out by the fingers without the hand touching or grasping the quiver itself.’
‘Very likely.’
‘This person was sufficiently familiar with the house to know where the ladder was kept, but knew that it would be dangerous to go to that cupboard by day. He went at night.’
‘That rules out Tollard.’
‘Unless the dart was taken the night before Tollard left. I think not, since the butler would have noticed it in the kitchen, on the day preceding the murder. But I am using the word “he” as one does use it at times, to signify a human being, not to specify the sex.’
‘I understand.’
‘He went by night, removed the steps, and carried them into the hall, mounted them, and removed a dart. Perhaps he had found it difficult enough to take the steps out of the cupboard, and decided not to attempt to replace them. He carried them to the kitchen, which was easy of access, and left them there. I am going to assume that the blow-pipe was not used.’
‘It would not be necessary indoors.’
‘No. But we must now concentrate on the people in this house. We must go over them again without fear or favour. Haine we cannot get at just now, but I am inclined to rule him out anyway. An imaginative person might conclude that he had let his harmless passion for Mrs Tollard get the better of him, and killed her when she had refused to countenance it, but personally I look on Haine as a decent young ass, without sufficient temperament to run into any passionate danger.’
‘I am sure of that.’
Carton nodded. ‘Well, will you undertake, sir, to question your servants, severally, and secretly, about the moving of the ladder from the cupboard? Put the fear of death in them, if they gossip about it, but see if any of them knows anything.’
‘I shall certainly do what you say,’ replied Mr Barley.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ARROW THAT FLYETH BY NIGHT
MRS GAILEY came down next morning in tweeds and a pair of brogue shoes, ready for her tramp over to Jorkins’s cottage. She said good-bye to Tollard, who was leaving immediately after breakfast, and then sat down next Mrs Minever.
‘Going out, my dear?’ the old lady enquired.
‘To get the cobwebs blown away,’ said Netta.
‘Mr Tollard looks a wreck,’ whispered her neighbour.
‘Yes, poor old thing,’ said Netta softly, and began her breakfast.
Carton had bade her good-morning when she came down, but did not speak to her now. He seemed more concerned with his food than with any less material matter, and ate on steadily without looking at anyone. Even when Netta got up and pushed back her chair he did not make any remark.
Netta thrilled secretly. She was engaged on very important business—a mission, no less. It was strictly between the two of them.
She was not aware that Carton had been down half an hour before anyone else, and had telephoned to the police at Elterham.
He had lain awake a long time after going to bed, worrying at his problem from every angle. Something, it might be a recollection of the expression on Fisher’s face when he had last parted from him, it might be a premonition he could not explain; but something told him that the police had made up their minds to pounce on Elaine Gurdon during the next day or two.
If they arrested her, she would have an unpleasant time thereafter; for, even if a prisoner is proved innocent, there are always those who will not give credence to the verdict, but go about remarking that the acquitted person was very lucky.
He had decided before he slept, to put his new clue in the hands of the police. They could not afford to disregard it, whether it was right or wrong, and it might give him a day’s respite in which to conduct further operations.
He did not believe in this clue so much as he had done
before the ladder incident attracted his attention. If the removal of the ladder had taken place in the night, but had been done by someone inside, it was unlikely that Jorkins was implicated. But the police knew nothing of the ladder. Let them carry on!
Netta set out rapidly for the under-keeper’s cottage, and found that it was as well she had made such an early start. Jorkins had been out on some job, returned for breakfast to his cottage, and was leaving it when she came in sight. Netta called to him, and he stopped still and waited for her to come up.
‘Oh, Jorkins,’ she said breathlessly, as she hurried across, ‘are you very busy just now?’
‘Not very, miss, if there is anything I can do for you,’ he replied.
‘You see, I thought I should like to learn to shoot.’
He smiled. ‘Some ladies does, now, miss,’ he replied. ‘This gun, being what they call a keeper’s gun, is not so light as some, but perhaps you wouldn’t mind that.’
‘It looks so big,’ said she, flattering herself on her acting. ‘I suppose it makes rather a nasty noise?’
His grin was respectful, but wide. ‘Reckon it does, miss, but you got to get used to that, if you shoot. It don’t sound so bad after the first few times.’
He offered the gun he had held under his arm, butt first to her, but Netta laughed and refused.
‘I wonder if I couldn’t learn to aim with something smaller, Jorkins? You see, if I got used to handling it, I might not mind the noise later on.’
To her annoyance, he threw open the breech of the gun, and extracted the cartridges. ‘Well, miss, there isn’t any need to fire her. You could just do the motions of loading and aiming, but keep your finger off the trigger.’
She reflected. ‘No, it is too heavy. Haven’t you an—what do they call it? Oh, an air-gun?’
Jorkins smiled and nodded. ‘I have, miss. At least Mr Barley bought me one of those B.S.A. ones; .22 bore, for killing rats and vermin.’
Netta could hardly contain her delight and excitement. Mr Carton was really wonderful. He had thought Jorkins might have an air-gun, and the man really had one. She beamed on Jorkins, and went on.
‘May I use that?’
Jorkins considered. ‘Well, miss, if you was to come down tomorrow, or this afternoon, say, you might. But it’s rare rusty. I never could get the hang of those things, and I find I can do all I want with my old twelve-bore here.’
He patted his gun affectionately.
‘You mean you could clean it up?’
‘Yes, miss, but please don’t tell Mr Barley I let it get that way. He was very keen on me buying one, along of some advert he saw. But, though he’s a very generous and kind gentleman, he don’t know much about my job.’
‘May I see it, and the kind of thing it shoots?’ she asked. ‘Of course, I won’t tell anyone you let it get rusty.’
Jorkins turned back, unlocked the door of his cottage, invited her in, and took down a powerful air-gun from the wall, giving the rather rusty barrel a brush with his coat-sleeve before he handed it to Netta.
She examined it carefully. ‘What does it fire, Jorkins?’
‘Slugs or shot, miss. Anything that will fit the bore. It is good enough for a man who aims by sights, but I always was a snap-shot, more by hand than eye, and I can’t make good shooting with it.’
‘I thought a slug was a kind of worm, or snail, or something!’ she said innocently.
‘This sort is a kind of small bullet of a peculiar shape, miss. If you wait a moment, I’ll get one for you. I keep them in a tin box over the fire there. I reckon I haven’t used many.’
‘Oh, thank you. I should so much like to see one,’ she said.
He brought down the tin, and handed her three slugs.
‘Them’s the sort, miss.’
‘And what did you say the air-gun was; what size, I mean?’
‘A twenty-two bore, miss. There’s a smaller size that boys uses. This can kill a rook, or a rabbit, at near range—perhaps better than that.’
She memorised this detail, and looked for a tip. She had just compensated Jorkins for his trouble, and was going to make a suggestion about coming again that afternoon, when a figure darkened the door of the cottage, and Inspector Warren came in.
Jorkins started, Netta looked guilty. The inspector touched his hat to the lady, nodded to Jorkins, and fastened his eyes with curious significance on the gun in the under-keeper’s hand.
‘Don’t keep your tools very bright, do you?’ he asked the latter, in a conversational tone. ‘It wouldn’t do if our police folk let their handcuffs get into a state like that!’
Netta’s first impulse was to say good-bye to Jorkins and vanish with expedition, but she decided now to stay and hear what was in the wind. Mr Carton might be glad to get information.
Jorkins seemed more at his ease now. ‘You might, and they might, if it was a tool you didn’t expect to use much.’
‘What do you keep it for then?’
‘’Twas bought for me, inspector, same as your boss might buy you a note-book you didn’t need, believing your memory was good enough,’ said Jorkins, and almost winked at Netta.
The inspector smiled drily. ‘So you are just having a look at it, to see if it needs cleaning.’
Here Netta thought it was her duty to come to Jorkins’s assistance.
‘I asked Jorkins to teach me to shoot, and I thought he might have this air-gun cleaned, so that I could use it, inspector.’
‘I see, miss. Aren’t you one of the ladies I saw up at the house the other day?’
‘Yes, I am Mrs Gailey.’
‘Mr Carton still up there?’ said Warren casually, appearing to forget Jorkins for the moment.
‘Oh yes, he is still there. Mr Tollard was leaving today though.’
‘Very sad for the poor gentleman,’ said Warren gravely. ‘I suppose he’s gone up to the funeral?’
‘Yes.’
‘I suppose the dead lady’s friend, Miss Gurdon, has gone too?’
Netta had been once bitten, and now she was shy. She heard the creak of the pump in his voice, and replied demurely.
‘I don’t think so.’
Jorkins had seized the opportunity to put the air-gun away again, but Warren saw the action and turned swiftly.
‘Let’s have a look at that Jorkins.’
The under-keeper obediently handed it down, and Netta saw that this was the moment for a retreat.
‘If I come back for a lesson after lunch, will you have it ready?’
‘Yes, miss,’ said Jorkins, who was looking uneasily at the detective. ‘I’ll try to.’
When Netta Gailey had gone, the inspector opened the breech of the air-gun, and glanced through the barrel, which he held up to the sky, as seen through the window of the cottage.
‘Looks rusty inside and out.’
‘Not only looks. It is!’
‘.22 I should say?’
‘Just that.’
‘Powerful weapon of its kind?’
‘Good as they make them. But I’m no shot with them, or a rifle, either.’
‘But you’re a keeper.’
‘I reckon I am a pretty good one too. You folk who aren’t used to guns don’t know that a gent, for instance, may be a clinking game shot, and not able to hit a door with a rifle.’
‘I don’t see. Why is it?’
‘Rifleman looks along the sights; a game shot often flings up his gun, keeps his eyes on the bird, (same as you do with t’other ball at billiards), and lets go. It’s the hand does it with a snap.’
‘You win,’ said Warren easily. ‘But now this lady—did she come down so early to learn shooting?’
‘So she said.’
‘Why didn’t you lend her your other gun?’
‘’Cause she said she didn’t like the bang, and if I had an air-gun she might learn to aim first.’
‘But she could learn with the other gun unloaded.’
‘I’m only telling you what she said.’
Warren nodded. ‘Did she know you had an air-gun?’
‘No. She said if I had an air-gun she might try it. She wanted to know what it shot, and I gave her some slugs.’
Warren gave up that line of questioning. He knew now that Carton had not only telephoned his theory to them, but had sent Mrs Gailey privately down to get information.
‘I think I had better have this, to show the inspector,’ he said. ‘I mean the superintendent.’
Jorkins looked alarmed. ‘Why, what have I to do with him? You aren’t kidding yourself that I shot the lady, are you?’
‘Not for a moment,’ said Warren, and put on an air of great confidence. ‘But we have to make enquiries, for this cottage of yours is not always lived in, you being away for hours at a time, and we never know but someone might have sneaked in, and taken this gun.’
‘Rusty?’
‘What’s rust, Jorkins? Why, I had a case where a knife was used. It was rusty too. Water, my son! You can put a bit of rust on most metal in a short time, if you want to. No, you let me have this, and we’ll return it to you as soon as we can. Since you say you don’t use it, it won’t hamper you much.’
‘What about the lady what’s coming back this afternoon?’
Warren shrugged. ‘I have an idea she won’t be back today. If she is, you tell her I had to take the thing away.’
‘Are you going with it now?’
‘I am. I have to get back with it.’
‘Well, don’t go and try to mess me up in it,’ said Jorkins gloomily. ‘You fellows are never happy but meddling with folk you ought to let alone.’
‘That is what the poachers say about you keepers,’ replied the inspector, with a grin. ‘I expect it is about as true!’
Meanwhile, Netta Gailey had fled home, and found Carton lying back in a deck-chair in the sun. She took out the slugs she had got at the cottage, and put them in his hands.
‘The slugs.’
‘Good.’
‘I had to hurry away. The inspector came.’
He whistled and looked blank.
‘What for?’
‘The air-gun.’
‘Oh, that?’
He seemed to understand now, though she did not.
