Murder on the Moor

by Julianna Deering

The constable looked at Drew as if he’d scored one off him. “You know Mr. Farthering here, do you, miss?”

  She looked puzzled. “Yes.”

  “And has it been a long acquaintance?”

  “No. Just the past few days. Why?”

  “I see.” Watts made another note in his book. “Would you know his voice if you weren’t expecting to hear it?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose.”

  “But you’re not certain.”

  “No. I don’t think I could say for certain.” She bit her lip. “I just don’t know.”

  A concentrated gravity came into Watts’s expression. “I want you to think very carefully now, miss. Is it possible that the voice you heard talking to your father before he was killed could have been Mr. Farthering’s?”

  Delwyn’s mouth dropped open, but he kept quiet.

  “No,” Iris protested. “It couldn’t have been. I mean, I don’t think so. Why would he kill my father?”

  “That’s still to be seen, miss,” Watts said. “He says he was outside listening when your father was killed. Do you know that he was?”

  “No. I don’t know, I suppose. But I don’t think—”

  “I just want to know what you heard, miss. Now, Mr. Farthering says he came upon Mr. Delwyn on his way to fetch help after the murder. You are better acquainted with Mr. Delwyn than Mr. Farthering I gather?”

  Iris looked as annoyed as Drew felt. “Of course I am. You know that, Teddy.”

  “Just by way of proper evidence taking, Iris. Now do be agreeable.”

  She huffed. “Yes, Constable. I have known Mr. Delwyn a great many years.”

  “Mr. Farthering here says Mr. Delwyn and your father have had recent altercations. Could you have heard Mr. Delwyn’s voice outside when your father was killed?”

  “No!” Iris pressed her lips together. “It wasn’t Rhys. I told you it was a gentleman’s voice. An Englishman. Not a Welshman.”

  “And was there anyone else you were aware of out in the yard, miss?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see anyone, Mr. Delwyn?” Watts asked. “Apart from Mr. Farthering?”

  Delwyn shook his head, his dark eyes wary as he gripped the back of Iris’s chair. “Not a soul.”

  “Right.” The constable made a note of that, then fixed a grave eye on Drew. “And you, sir? Did you see anyone else out by the house when you were observing?”

  “No,” Drew admitted. “I didn’t see anyone except Midgley after he had been killed and then Delwyn on my way to the village.”

  “Exactly, sir. Now I’ll thank you to come along quietly.”

  “I did not kill Midgley.”

  “That’s more than I know, sir. Not just yet.”

  “This is ludicrous. I didn’t—”

  “It is just for further questioning. No charges will be filed as yet.”

  Drew huffed. “If this isn’t a waste of your time, Watts, it certainly is of mine. Meanwhile the actual murderer is out on the moor, free to kill again.”

  “It will all be sorted in due time, sir. Just come along.”

  “I’ll see to Iris,” Delwyn told Drew.

  Drew stared at him, wondering if Iris truly hadn’t recognized the killer’s voice or if she didn’t want to admit she had. If Delwyn had done for Midgley, surely Iris wouldn’t lie to protect him. Or would she? And if she had been foolish enough to do so, would he repay her by silencing her when they were alone?

  “You will send the doctor right back, Constable?” Drew asked.

  “He has been notified, sir. I expect he’ll be here soon. If you’ll just come this way, please.”

  Surely if Delwyn had killed Midgley, he wouldn’t be so daft as to do Iris harm when he was known to be alone with her at the cottage. And the doctor was coming. It would have to do.

  Eighteen

  They made the brief trip back to Bunting’s Nest without a word, Watts leaning over the steering wheel, concentrating on the dim road ahead, and Drew sitting in silence beside him. Clearly the man meant to do his duty to the letter, and Drew couldn’t fault his intentions, but this was beyond absurd. Trenton would be much more reasonable to deal with.

  “Constable Trenton will not be available until the morning at least, sir,” Watts announced once they’d reached the police station and Drew made his request. “I do apologize, but the circumstances are unavoidable. Now, if you’ll just turn out your pockets here on the desk, I’ll give you a receipt. For the pistol, as well.”

  Drew eyed the little metal tray Watts pushed over to him. “I realize he has a baby on the way, but couldn’t you just telephone him, tell him the situation and ask his advice?”

  “I don’t know that that’s possible, sir. Seeing as Dr. Pine has been called over to see to Mr. Midgley, I don’t think Uncle, er, Constable Trenton will appreciate being troubled by me just now, even if Mrs. Newgate is over to help.” He tapped the side of the tray, making a dull thump. “Your pockets, sir, if you please.”

  Drew complied. Wallet, handkerchief, keys, coins. He pulled his watch out of his waistcoat pocket and put it with the rest. The little sixpence Madeline had put in her shoe for luck at their wedding hung from the chain, gleaming in the green-shaded light from the desk lamp. She’d be snickering at him just now, he was certain of it. And Nick would be braying like a donkey. Blast the man, where was he?

  “Couldn’t you just telephone Trenton?” Drew took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I realize you have certain protocols that must be followed, but in this particular instance we would all benefit from a moment of reflection.”

  Watts observed him with a jaundiced eye but said nothing.

  “I can tell you are a scrupulously fair man, Constable, and I fully appreciate that these matters often take time to clarify. All I ask is that you make one inconsequential telephone call to Constable Trenton and ask his opinion on the matter. I am certain that he will commend your diligence and consideration.”

  Watts stuck out his cleft chin. “I have been left in charge, Mr. Farthering, sir, and have full authority to make whatever decisions need to be made until Constable Trenton returns.”

  “Oh, have a heart, man!” Drew stopped himself and managed to make his expression pleasant once more. “Just a telephone call. That’s all I ask.”

  “But Aunt Mae—”

  “You know babies take forever to come. Trenton’s probably sitting there wishing for something to take his mind off things for a bit. At least try. I promise to be a model prisoner, if you’ll just oblige me in this one little thing.”

  Watts was wavering.

  “Please.”

  Watts put his hand on the telephone. “Only because Cousin Jimmy says you’ve helped him a time or two.”

  Drew made a mental note to send Chief Inspector Birdsong an enormous box of bonbons the minute he was back at Farthering Place. The constable asked the operator for two-seven-three, and soon he had Trenton on the line.

  “Uncle Bilby?”

  Drew could hear the tinny hum of the other man’s voice over the line, but only a few of the words. “. . . doing, Teddy? . . . waiting . . . Dr. Pine . . . call . . . Get off the line!”

  That last was clear as a bell.

  Watts gulped. “I will. I just wanted to know—I mean, about the Midgley case—”

  Trenton’s voice hummed again, rising and falling in volume. “. . . handle things till then, right?” There was more Drew couldn’t make out until Trenton was running out of patience. “. . . sort it all out in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir, I will. It’s just that Mr. Farthering wanted me to ask you—”

  A woman’s piercing scream came from the telephone, and Teddy nearly dropped the receiver. “Uncle Bilby?”

  “Where is that doctor?” Trenton shouted to someone on his end of the line, the words as clear as if he’d been standing in the station beside them.

  “Uncle Bilby?”

  “Get off the line, Teddy!”

  “But M
r. Farthering—”

  “Handle it, man!”

  Watts cringed at the abrupt and final sound of the receiver on the other end of the line being slammed down.

  Drew smiled thinly. “I take it that’s a no.”

  Watts pursed his lips and gestured toward the small holding cell visible through the door on the other side of the desk. “If you’ll be so good, sir.”

  Drew gritted his teeth, remembering his promise. “Fair enough. At least you made the attempt. I’d like to telephone my wife and let her know where I am.”

  He didn’t tell the constable that Madeline wasn’t expecting him till morning anyway. If he could get word to her, she would no doubt tell Beaky what the situation was, and Beaky would use his influence to get Drew out right away.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but prisoners are not allowed telephone privileges.”

  Drew looked heavenward. “Surely I am to be allowed a telephone call. Isn’t that the usual thing when one has been arrested?”

  “But you’re not under arrest, sir. You’re only here for questioning.”

  Drew beamed at him. “Excellent. Question me and let me go.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but that’ll have to wait till morning.”

  “Then I am a prisoner.”

  Watts thought for a moment. “Well, yes and no, sir. You’re not under arrest, but I can’t release you either. I’d say you are a party of interest.”

  “And I take it parties of interest also may not use the telephone?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. I don’t recall a specific regulation about that. But I’ll find out.”

  “Good, because—”

  “In the morning.”

  Drew squeezed his eyes shut and then smiled again. “Constable Watts, I take it you are not a married man.”

  The constable blushed, looking every bit of nineteen. “No, sir.”

  “My wife, you remember her, don’t you?”

  Watts nodded. “Very lovely lady, sir, if you’ll pardon my saying.”

  “No pardon necessary, Constable. She is that. She is also a very loving wife, and she would find it distressing if anything were to happen to me. Now, I don’t like my wife to be distressed any more than I can possibly help. It seems the slightest of courtesies to at least let her know where I am, don’t you think?”

  “Of course, sir. I’m sure that won’t be any trouble at all. In the morning.”

  Drew scowled, thinking again. “What if you were to make the call for me? Just to let her know why I’m delayed?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but officers are not allowed to make calls for detainees.”

  “Oh, come on, Watts. Teddy. You’re a fine officer, I’m sure, but you’re also a human being. How can you let my poor wife suffer all night long?”

  To his credit, Watts did look genuinely distressed. “It’s not regulation, sir.”

  “Couldn’t you make the call in your capacity as a private citizen and not an officer of the law?”

  The constable’s distress congealed into disdain. “Private citizens are not allowed to use the station telephone.”

  With that he took firm hold of Drew’s upper arm and removed him to the holding cell. Drew sat on the narrow cot, his chin propped up on one hand. Marvelous. The whole deuced evening had turned out just marvelous. Nick hadn’t turned up at Midgley’s, and Drew had made a hash out of the matter on his own. Not only had he not caught the killer, he’d allowed him to kill again. And now he would be spending the night in jail to think it over.

  He sighed, looking longingly through the bars, able to see little more than Watts hunched over the desk, his tongue protruding slightly as he wrote out a receipt for the things in the metal tray. There had to be a way out before Trenton returned. There was no guarantee it would be in the morning. There was no guarantee it would be tomorrow at all.

  “God,” he breathed, “I need a way out. Please.”

  He got up and tried the barred door, not quite knowing what he would do if he found it unlocked, but the question was moot. The door didn’t budge.

  He sat on the cot once again. It was going to be a long night. He might as well try to sleep. He stretched out on his back, one arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light from the bare bulb overhead.

  The next thing he knew, there was a pounding on the door that led to the street. “Open up! Open up!”

  Drew sat up, looking blankly at P.C. Watts, who glared back at him.

  “We don’t have anything happen for months on end round here, and now there’s not a minute’s rest.” He thumped into the front of the station and threw open the door. “Keep it quiet out there or I’ll have you in for causing a disturbance!”

  “I wanna know who is in charge here,” someone demanded in a low growl. “Lemme see the manager.”

  “This isn’t a hotel and this isn’t a pub and I haven’t time for tosspots this hour of the night. Quiet down and clear off.”

  “Lemme see the manager.” The voice was thick and unsteady. “Someone’s took my bed. It was just there not ten minutes ago.”

  “Go on,” Watts warned, “or I’ll find you a bed right here.”

  “You’ve found it? About time. Saved me going to the police about it.”

  Drew clenched his jaw in annoyance.

  “Yes, we found it all right,” said the constable. “Come in and identify it.”

  He stepped out the door and returned a moment later with the supposed drifter Tom Selden in tow. With his free hand he unlocked the cell and then pushed the new prisoner inside.

  Nick stumbled over to the cot along the far wall and then started as if he had only just seen it. His whole face scrunched up as if he were struggling to make a decision and then he staggered back to the bars where Watts was just locking the door.

  “That isn’t it at all,” Nick protested. “Mine was blue with sort of a stripe on it.”

  “Well, you give it another look,” Watts soothed, dropping the key into his uniform pocket, “and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “You’re a good bloke,” Nick said, reaching through the bars to drape himself from Watts’s shoulder. “But I tell you, mate, that’s not mine. It ain’t blue and it don’t have no stripe. ’Sides, if it was mine, what would it be doing in this post office?” He patted the constable’s chest with his free hand. “You see what I mean?”

  Watts removed the prisoner’s hand from his shoulder, causing him to slide down against the bars until the constable pulled him upright again.

  “I tell you what you should do about your little dilemma,” Watts said. “That gentleman over there is in charge of our lost-and-found department, and he would be very happy to help you find your missing property.”

  The prisoner’s face lit. “Right! Right! Just the ticket. Who’s your governor, eh? Tell him you ought to have a rise in your pay. Better yet, I’ll tell him. You have him look me up proper early, eh?”

  “I’ll do that.” Watts took hold of Nick’s shoulder and turned him to face Drew. “Now off you go, and remember this is a post office and we want to keep it quiet.”

  “Right,” the prisoner said, putting a finger to his lips. “Quiet as mice, to be sure.”

  Watts watched him stagger over to Drew’s bunk and then, with a chuckle, went back to his desk.

  “A three-penny stamp if you please, guv.”

  Drew scowled at Nick and made his voice low. “That was laid on with a trowel.”

  “It got me in, didn’t it?”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Drew demanded. “Where have you been? I thought you were coming just after sundown.”

  “I’ve been stuck in the middle of the empty countryside, waiting for a track to be mended or connected or switched or some nonsense of that ilk,” Nick whispered. “I was coming just after sundown, but evidently the engine driver hadn’t been given prior notice of the plan and rather took his time getting us up here from York. Nonetheless, I’ve come to get you out.”


  Drew glanced toward the other room. Watts had pulled the intervening door nearly closed, and all he could see was the constable’s heavy boots propped up on Trenton’s overburdened desk. He lifted an eyebrow, uncertain how Nick could possibly make good on that statement.

  “I didn’t get to look at Beaky’s will or his insurance policy.”

  Drew frowned. “I thought you were going to charm some file clerk or girl from the typing pool into helping you.”

  “At the insurance company the only one who’d see me was a Miss Ellis. She wanted to see a letter from Beaky’s solicitors or from Beaky himself granting me permission to see his policy.”

  “And at the solicitors’?”

  Nick looked positively distressed. “It turned out that the girl from the typing pool was an elderly gentleman of between sixty and seventy years called Roussel. He arrived at the front office in ill humor and was not about to be charmed. Barring written permission from Mr. Bloodworth or a properly executed court order, I was not going to be seeing his will this day or any other.”

  “I don’t guess any of that matters now, old man. Midgley, he—”

  “I know all about that. I was coming up to the cottage when the police arrived to take you away. I saw reason wasn’t going to move young Teddy over there, so I thought I’d best come get you out.”

  Drew gaped at him. Nick produced an unconcerned smile in return.

  “You realize we’re both in here now.”

  “I do,” Nick said cheerfully.

  “That means neither of us is out there.”

  “It means precisely that.”

  Drew pursed his lips. “And this helps because . . . ?”

  “Because contrary to popular belief, our beloved constable there does not possess the key to this cell.”

  “No? And why would you think that?”

  “Because,” Nick said, producing the object in question, “I do.”

  Drew couldn’t keep back a grin. “I’m sure you’ve just broken a number of local ordinances.”

  “Not as many as the two of us will have in just a few minutes more.”

  Drew glanced toward the feet on Trenton’s desk. “Please don’t tell me that bit will include assaulting a police officer.”