‘Look in on your way home and you’ll see him,’ said Parry, who did not want Bragg to be interrupted till the report was done.
‘About half-past five?’ inquired Carey.
‘About that.’
‘I don’t know what Bragg would do—’ began Carey, then hearing a sound, he turned round, stopped, stared, and began to laugh.
The ground surrounding the viaduct was a veritable booby trap. It was trodden into muddy pools and littered with planks, ropes, ladders, wedges, wire and other objects calculated to bring discomfiture on the unwary. Carey heard the sound of a foot striking steel and looked round just in time to see Parry performing windmill evolutions with his arms. But these efforts did not save him and he fell heavily on his side right into a particularly virulent looking pool.
Carey laughed more and more and more, till he could scarcely stand. Then as he listened to Parry’s language, his features took on an expression of unwilling respect.
‘Holy saints, Parry!’ he exclaimed, ‘you’ve been in the army all right. Why don’t you look what’s in front of your feet?’
Parry picturesquely explained why he didn’t look what was in front of his feet as he tried to rub the mud off his trousers with handfuls of grass.
‘Sure you’re only making it worse, doing that,’ Carey pointed out. ‘Go away and dry it at the fire in your office and then it’ll brush off. Or some of it will anyway,’ he added consolingly.
It was in no very sweet temper that Parry reached the office. He found Bragg alone, Ashe having gone back to Lydmouth.
Bragg stared, then he also exploded into peals of laughter. ‘Say, young Parry, what have you been playing at?’ he implored between his paroxysms. ‘Tell us about the game. Was it rugger with Miggs?’
He roared again, then seeing that Parry was trembling, he stopped. ‘Any the worse, old man?’ he asked.
‘Of course I’m none the worse,’ Parry returned, beginning to wash in the sink. ‘Tripped on a blinking bar at the viaduct.’ He began to laugh himself in a queer, high-pitched way. Bragg didn’t like the sound of it. The man must be more shaken than he admitted.
‘Stop that,’ said Bragg sharply. He opened the cupboard and took out the whisky. ‘Here, you ass,’ he said. ‘Drink that.’
Parry gulped down the liquid. It pulled him together.
‘Sorry, Bragg,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what came over me. ‘I’d be all right if I could get some of this confounded mud off.’
‘It’ll dry,’ Bragg comforted. ‘Come on and get at this blessed job.’
‘I typed out a couple of suggestions for Section II last night,’ Parry remarked, laying some sheets of paper on the desk before Bragg.
‘Good,’ said Bragg, running his eyes over the paragraphs. ‘I thought you wouldn’t use your machine for railway purposes?’
Parry gave a sickly grin. ‘It wasn’t that. Pearl Ackerley has had it for the last three weeks. Besides I look on this as our own private job.’
‘So it is in a way. I like that paragraph two, but,’ and Bragg went off into technicalities. The work proved easier than Parry had expected and they finished it comparatively early.
‘There,’ said Bragg, throwing down his pen, ‘thank the Lord that’s done. Go through it, Parry, will you, and see that all the corrections are clear so that Miss Redfern can type it straight off in the morning.’
Parry pulled the sheets in front of him.
‘I had a look at that aggregate at Pier IV as I came along,’ he remarked. ‘I didn’t tell you, because I thought we’d be busy till quitting time. But I thought it was damned bad stuff; just as dirty as ever. I was wondering if you’d care to have a look at it, seeing you won’t be down in the morning.’
Bragg glanced at his watch. ‘Twenty-five past. I suppose I might.’
‘I met Carey,’ went on Parry. ‘He wanted to see you. I told him to call on his way home.’
‘What’s he want?’
‘Something about the output of rock from the tunnel.’
Bragg stood up. ‘I’ll go to the viaduct,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about that blessed output of stone till I’m sick. If I’m not back when he comes, tell him I’ll see him next day I’m down.’
Parry grinned. He had expected just this reaction. Bragg put on his coat. ‘When are you going?’ he inquired as he opened the door.
‘By the 6.10.’
Parry settled down to collate his sheets. There was really not much to be done and in a few minutes time the alterations were checked and the sheets made up. As Parry was writing the address there was a knock at the door and Carey entered.
‘You’re feeling better after your bath, I hope?’ he inquired solicitously, looking Parry up and down. ‘Sure the mud’s caking the very best.’ He put his head into the other room. ‘I thought Bragg was to be here now?’
‘He’s gone down to Pier IV to look at the dust in the aggregate.’
This also produced the expected reaction. Carey gave an excellent imitation of a man gibbering with rage. ‘I’ll wait till he comes back,’ he went on, ‘and let him know what I think of him. And you too,’ he added as an afterthought.
He drew the most comfortable chair he could find up to the stove, lit his pipe, and began to talk. Parry pulled his stool round beside him and to the best of his ability did the honours of the office. Presently there was a sharp footstep and Bragg appeared.
‘I’ve been waiting for you, Bragg,’ Carey said, swinging round in his chair. ‘This imp of wickedness told me you’d be in. I say, Bragg, I want to see you about getting in another couple of blasts in the day at the tunnel. There’s twenty min-yits between trains in the forenoon and seventeen in the afternoon when we don’t blast. Why couldn’t we fire then?’
Bragg glanced at his watch and moved impatiently. ‘Look here, Carey, I’ve got to go over to Drychester. Let’s postpone the thing. I’ll be down on Thursday morning and we can fix it then.’
Carey agreed ‘so long as it wasn’t overlooked’ and presently took his departure.
‘I had a look at that aggregate,’ Bragg went on when they were alone. ‘I don’t know what you were thinking about, Parry. There was nothing wrong with what I saw.’
‘Then they must have changed their minds,’ Parry returned. ‘What I saw was damned dirty. I expect they saw me looking at it and thought we’d come up and take a sample.’
Bragg grunted. ‘Got that report finished?’
Parry pointed to his letter.
‘Well, see it gets to the office early so that it can be typed ready to put before Marlowe at eleven. I’d take it myself only for going over to Drychester.’ He paused and looked keenly at Parry. ‘What’s wrong?’ he went on. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I don’t know,’ Parry answered irritably. ‘I suppose I’m getting a chill from that damned wetting.’
‘Well, get home as quick as you can. You said you were going on the 6.10? You’ll just get it if you hurry.’
‘I think I’ll wait for the 6.25 goods,’ Parry returned. ‘I didn’t get that plan out of Holford and he’ll want it in the morning.’
This was a plan of the foundations for a small shed which was to be erected in the goods’ yard at Whitness. Parry had obtained a print of the portion of the yard in question, but the shed had to be shown on with the necessary dimensions to enable the inspector to peg it out.
‘Oh, yes, that’s important,’ Bragg agreed. ‘Is the plan ready?’
‘No, but I can do what’s wanted in fifteen minutes.’ He opened a drawer and produced a plan, spreading it out on the desk. ‘Just have a look at it, Bragg, will you? The shed’s twenty feet from this corner of the store, isn’t it; not from the back?’
‘Yes, from the front corner. Right. Then you’ll get your 6.25.’ Bragg nodded and left the office and Parry heard him starting up his car in the adjoining shed, used as a garage.
There was quite a collection of vehicles in the shed. Cars were represented by Bragg’s two-s
eater and a large Morris belonging to the contractors, theoretically for the use of the staff, but in practice monopolised by Carey for pleasure excursions. Carey justified this arrangement by pointing out, first, that as the road between Whitness and Redchurch ran at a considerable distance from the railway, the car was no use on the job, and second, that anyone else who could drive it could have it. Besides the cars there were four motor bicycles, belonging respectively to Lowell, Pole, and two members of the clerical staff.
Parry’s job finished, he hurried to the station. The plan, complete with its added information, he handed to the stationmaster, to be given to Inspector Holford first thing in the morning. He was cold and shivering as he climbed into the van of the 6.25 goods, and when he reached his rooms he found he could not eat. He had an invitation to a dance, but he felt so badly that instead he mixed himself a stiff glass of grog and went to bed.
8
Tragedy Again
Next morning Parry felt miserable, though better than on the previous night. He decided he was not sufficiently ill to stay in bed, and breakfast with plenty of hot coffee made him feel more his own man. In due course he reached the station at Redchurch to get his usual train to Whitness. There Clay, the stationmaster, beckoned him over mysteriously.
‘Heard the news, Mr Parry?’
‘No,’ said Parry, ‘not that I know of.’
Clay leaned forward. ‘Mr Carey,’ he said in a low tone. ‘He’s dead.’
Parry stared. ‘Dead?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘You’re not serious, Mr Clay?’
‘It’s true enough. The news has just come through. They found him hanging in his office this morning.’
‘Good God!’ Parry cried weakly. ‘Suicide?’ he added almost in a whisper.
Clay shrugged. That was all he knew. No doubt Mr Parry would hear all details when he got to Whitness.
As in a dream Parry watched his train come in. Neither Bragg nor Ashe was coming down this morning, and still as in a dream Parry got into an empty compartment. A feeling of horror was weighing him down. It was a feeling he was growing accustomed to. He had felt it during the War—practically continuously, if for the most part subconsciously. He had felt it at the time of Ackerley’s death. That tragedy had shaken him to the very marrow. And now he was feeling it again. He shivered.
As he sat gazing unseeingly at the passing landscape, he reviewed the occasions on which he had seen Carey on the previous day. Whole days sometimes passed without a meeting between the two men, but yesterday they had encountered one another several times. First at the culvert in the Lily Pond, then at the concreting of Pier IV, and finally before he, Parry, left Whitness. Perfectly well and perfectly normal Carey had seemed when he left Bragg and himself in the railway hut. It was true he had appeared to be slightly annoyed; in the morning by the failure of the jack, in the evening by the suggestions that there was dust in the aggregate. But Parry was certain that he was not really annoyed. That was Carey’s manner, that continual assumption of a grievance. Really, he was half joking. A little tiresome, perhaps, but it meant nothing. Parry had once seen him really angry and it was a very different thing.
At Whitness, Parry had a word with the stationmaster. Yes, the news was only too true. The storesman had found Carey in the office when he went in to light the fire. He had given the alarm and the police were now in charge. Yes, it was supposed to be suicide, but the stationmaster didn’t believe any one knew for certain.
Parry hurried down to the contractors’ yard. At the door of their office a police constable was standing. Parry went up to him.
‘Are Mr Lowell or Mr Pole about?’ he asked.
‘Both inside, sir. The sergeant’s talking to them. Your name, sir?’
‘Parry; Clifford Parry. I’m the Railway Company’s resident engineer.’
‘You knew Mr Carey, then?’
‘Of course I did. I saw him only last night.’
‘In that case, sir, the sergeant will want to get some details from you. Will you wait a moment?’
‘Certainly, I’ll be over in my own hut. Come over if you want me.’
Parry felt too much upset to settle down to work. He made a pretence of going through the letters, but he found himself reading them over and over again without in the least grasping their meaning. His thoughts remained centred in that office in the other hut.
Parry did not know much about Carey. None of them did. It was rumoured that his father had been a labourer and that he had started with the firm as a clerk, working himself up to his present position by sheer merit. But of his present family circumstances no one knew anything, not even if he was married. His name and his accent proclaimed the country of his birth, but had it not been for these tell-tale clues, probably not even that would have been known.
Parry wondered if it was not this secretiveness, not only in connection with himself, but in all matters, which made Carey disliked. Disliked, perhaps, was too strong a term; not very popular, would be nearer the truth. Carey’s reaction was to keep everything dark and in his own hands. Even as contractors’ engineer the same inclination came out. It made him essential, of course, which might have been his motive for adopting it. But it was bad for the work. He tended to become a bottle-neck which slowed everything up.
On the other hand, Carey had his good points. Indeed, he had many of them. He knew his job and he could get work out of his men while still treating them decently. He was fair and he was a worker. If he asked others to pull out he was ready himself to do the same. He was always—
There was a knock at the door, and a sergeant of police entered.
‘Mr Parry?’ he said, halting on the threshold.
Parry got up. ‘That’s my name. You wish to see me? Won’t you sit down?’
The sergeant advanced, followed by a constable. They took the seats Parry pointed out.
Parry’s feeling of horror intensified as he thought of discussing the affair in cold blood, but he resolutely pulled himself together and answered the sergeant as collectedly as he could.
‘It’s about this unhappy occurrence,’ the sergeant went on. ‘You, sir, knew the deceased?’
‘Yes, I knew him well, though it was as a business acquaintance rather than as a personal friend. We were on good terms, but not specially intimate.’
‘I understand, sir. What is your exact position here?’
‘Resident engineer for the Railway Company.’
‘Quite so. How long have you known the deceased?’
Parry told him all he knew of Carey; history, character, activities, reputation: it didn’t amount to much. Then he recounted his three interviews with the dead man on the previous day. No, Carey didn’t seem excited or depressed or in any way unusual. He, Parry, had no idea of anything which might have been weighing on the deceased’s mind or which could have influenced him to take his own life. Quite the contrary. So far as he knew, Carey had occupied a position with which he ought to have been well satisfied. It was responsible and, Parry supposed, lucrative, and his holding it was proof of the esteem in which his firm held him. His prospects, Parry thought, were good. No, he didn’t know if Carey was married, or whether he had any amatory or financial or other trouble.
The sergeant looked over his notes. ‘I think that’s all, sir,’ he said slowly. ‘It seems to me that you and Mr Bragg were the last persons to see the deceased alive. He left here, you say, about six last night, or a few minutes before it. And that was the last time you saw him?’
‘Yes, the last time.’
While he spoke, Parry was trying to solve a secondary problem. He was wondering whether he should volunteer a statement: something about last night: something which—
The sergeant brought his ruminations to an untimely end. He had apparently noticed Parry’s change of expression, for he spoke in a somewhat sharper voice than he had yet used. ‘Something has occurred to you, sir. What is it, if you please?’
Parry hesitated. Then he shrugged. ‘As you will, serg
eant. It was just a little thing I saw last night. I’m afraid I didn’t observe it very carefully. Naturally I considered it not only not my business, but also of no importance. Besides, I was suffering from the beginning of a chill and was feel very cheap and sorry for myself.’
‘Never mind that, sir. Tell me what you saw.’
‘It was when I was leaving this office. That would be about quarter-past six, for I caught the 6.25 goods, and I always allow ten minutes to go to the station. I passed, as you can understand, within forty yards of the contractors’ hut. It was in darkness except for Mr Carey’s office, which was lighted, though the blinds were drawn down. The evening was fairly light; no moon, but bright stars. I saw someone walking towards the hut. He passed between me and the lighted window, and I saw the silhouette of his head and shoulders. He went on to the door and I heard him knock.’
‘Was the door opened for him?’
‘No,’ said Parry; ‘he opened it himself, but not at once.’
‘He opened it himself? Then it wasn’t fastened?’
‘It was fastened. He had a key.’
The sergeant looked a trifle puzzled. ‘I don’t think I understand,’ he said. ‘Why did he knock if he had a key? Just to give notice of his approach, I suppose?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Parry. ‘I thought it a bit strange myself.’
‘How long elapsed between the time he knocked and his opening the door?’
‘I couldn’t say. I told you I wasn’t paying much attention to the matter.’
‘What I mean,’ said the persistent sergeant, ‘is whether he just gave a knock merely to announce his approach, or whether he knocked and waited, as it were, to see if anyone was going to open?’
‘Oh, he waited. I can’t say how long he waited, but it was an appreciable time.’
‘Did he close the door behind him?’
‘Yes, he went in and shut the door.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Humph,’ said the sergeant judicially. ‘This might be important enough, and again it might not. Now, tell me,’ he leaned forward and became impressive, ‘who was it?’
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