by Richard Hull
It seemed to him curious, but before he could do anything more about it, Benson’s voice came from outside.
“Here’s Miss Knox Forster, sir, Mr. Cargate’s secretary. And if, sir, when you’ve settled what to do, you wouldn’t mind telling me, I shall be glad; because I didn’t ought to keep this coach here much longer. For one thing the company will be wanting the use of it, maybe. And for another I’ve got two trucks due to come into that siding to-morrow and there isn’t another one hereabouts. So if I could be free to arrange to have that coach moved—”
“I quite understand, Benson, and I’ll let you know as soon as I can. All the same—” he seemed to change his mind and turned to the woman who had just arrived, “there isn’t any need to keep him here. What would you like done about it? I’m sorry, I ought to have introduced myself. My name is Gardiner. I’m the local doctor. Benson rang me up and got me to come here. I’m afraid that Mr. Cargate has died suddenly in the train. We ought to move him somewhere and then get on to his relations.”
“Yes. But Scotney End Hall’s the best part of five miles away and our car’s broken down. I got here on a bicycle.”
“I see. Of course we could use my car as an ambulance. But, if you prefer it, perhaps my surgery would be a good place? Though I don’t particularly want to give up the space and I certainly don’t want to press it because, if an examination must be done, I’m not his doctor.”
The woman who faced him seemed to sense something of the soreness lying behind the simple statement of fact. She altered the weight of her tall body from one foot to the other, while a puzzled expression came into the steel-blue eyes that looked out unflinchingly from under her grey hair.
“The whole thing is a little complicated. So far as I know Mr. Cargate has no relations in the world and I don’t know who his executors are. I suppose really they ought to make the decisions.”
“Perhaps. But meanwhile—”
“It wouldn’t take long to get on to his solicitors. He told me that his will was with them and before I came down here, I took a note of their telephone number. We could ring up from here.”
Gardiner looked at his watch.
“They’ll probably all be out to lunch by now; it’s just after one.” He felt quite relieved to have thought of something which this extremely competent woman had apparently overlooked. He found Miss Knox Forster a little overpowering, and he had once more fallen back into indecisiveness as he went on: “I don’t somehow quite like leaving him here and I can’t stay. I’ve got much too much to do.”
“Obviously I can stay. In a sense my occupation has ended. I think it’s worth while seeing if those solicitors are in and how soon it will be before some authorized person can get on the scene. If it will be some time, then I agree that we must move him, to clear the station if for no other reason; but if not, a few hours wouldn’t matter. Do you mind hanging on for a few minutes while I ring these solicitors up?”
Gardiner could do nothing but consent. A very sweeping, rather abrupt and domineering woman, Miss Knox Forster, he had thought as he watched her stride rather clumsily but quickly along to the stationmaster’s office. Having nothing to do he started to walk about and presently, finding himself by Benson’s flower-beds, he stooped down and put his nose into one of the deep crimson blooms. Then he straightened himself up suddenly with a jerk, a startled expression on his face, then he stooped again, lower down this time, till he was sniffing the mignonette. A second later and he was hurrying back to the carriage as fast as he could go, searching in his pocket as he went for an envelope sufficiently durable for his purpose. A bad habit of carrying about with him unread correspondence unjustly assisted him to find what he wanted.
Long before Miss Knox Forster had put through her call, he had gone into the carriage and swept up some of the light brown powder that lay on the floor. There was no doubt about it, the smell that permeated the carriage was not that of rose or mignonette. Was it perhaps faintly reminiscent of almonds? If so, it suggested a curious and entirely new idea to his brain. It might, of course, be nothing more than ordinary snuff, but now that he looked at it again it seemed to him to be a very light brown. He wasn’t sure. He might be quite wrong, but there could be no harm in seeing that no facts were lost.
The only question really was how much more ought he to try to preserve. If he was more certain, perhaps he ought to insist on the whole coach being kept in status quo. But he was not. And suddenly he decided to keep his opinions to himself, or rather to divulge them only to the proper authority, and not, for instance, to the stationmaster or to Miss Knox Forster.
So, unobtrusively, he got out of the carriage again, just in time so that that decided lady, when she finished her telephone conversation, was not to know that he had ever left the track and the platform.
“I’ve got through to the solicitors,” she said cheerfully. “All the partners were of course, as you thought, out to lunch. It seems to me sometimes that you men, especially business ones, give rather an undue prominence to that meal. However, I had a certain amount of luck. Usually one finds that no one is about but a half-witted office boy, but this time there was a managing clerk, and as he happened to have dealt with Mr. Cargate’s will, of course he knew all about it. Naturally too he wanted to be extremely secretive. I suppose they think that it sounds important.”
“But you got something out of him?”
“Yes, after a short argument. The sole executor is the senior partner of this particular firm and my managing clerk believed that he would consent to act. Power, he was careful to explain, had been given in the will for them to charge their ordinary fees, which, if I know anything of my late employer, will be better described as extraordinary.”
“So I gathered.”
“Well, he was rather like that. He never thought that he was getting good value unless he was overcharged, but I must say that he did generally go to good people.”
It occurred to Gardiner to wonder how much Miss Knox Forster herself had been in the habit of overcharging her employer for her probably very efficient services, and quick as lightning she answered his thought.
“Oh, yes! I got the job by asking half as much salary again as anyone else who applied. I think that I’ve been worth it—otherwise I should have got the sack long ago. You had to give value, I must say. But that’s beside the point. This firm of solicitors—Anderson and Ley—are apparently very well known—”
“I have heard of them. They’ve got rather a reputation.”
“I’m not surprised. Apparently also they are very busy. Mr. Ley is extremely unlikely, according to his managing clerk, to be able to come down till to-morrow. I’ve said that I’ll ring them up again later. I thought of making them ring me up but I don’t know whether I shall be here or have gone back to Scotney End. I can put through a personal call and so get Ley pretty well as soon as he comes back from lunch, but meanwhile it does make it awkward.”
“It does,” Gardiner agreed. “You know I don’t think that there’s any point in keeping him in that coach.”
“I’m ready to take your advice about that, but if you think that he ought to be moved, on the whole I think it would be better if we took him back to Scotney End. There’ll be room there,” she added grimly.
“Very well, then. I’ll do that and then, in a way, I retire from the case unless you want me. But I can’t certify the cause of death; at least not without consultation with his own doctor. As a matter of fact I think that I ought to talk to the coroner.”
“If you’ve got the time—”
“I must make it somehow.”
“I wish you would. You know about these things and I don’t. You could explain it much better.”
Gardiner nodded.
“You can take that as settled. Will you start going back to Scotney End to warn them there? Or would you prefer to come with me and bring your bicycle later?”<
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“We may want some help to carry him upstairs. Raikes is rather old and that only leaves you and me and the gardener and the maids. I shall ring up from here and tell them to expect us while you and the stationmaster and the porter get him into the back of your car. The door will come off the lamp-shed quite easily, by the way. Then I shall go back with you, and I shall get the porter to ride my bicycle up and give us a hand. He can hold on to the back of the car for that distance, whatever the Road Traffic Act may say, and perhaps you will bring him back. Meanwhile,” Miss Knox Forster swept on, “shall I take that snuffbox or will you put it in his pocket?”
“Perhaps I’d better take it.”
“Just as you like, though I don’t see why. Be careful of it, though, it’s rather valuable—even though the central stone is missing.”
“So I noticed, but I shan’t steal it,” Gardiner laughed, “though I’m glad to hear that you know about the stone. My taking it is only a formality—in case the coroner wants to see it.”
“As an objet d’art, he might like it, but I can’t see why he should otherwise. However, let’s get hold of the stationmaster.”
Gardiner called out to Benson and explained what was wanted. His own experience made him a little doubtful as to whether Miss Knox Forster’s sweeping plans for employing all the station staff would be accomplished quite so easily as she seemed to expect, but somehow, rather to Gardiner’s surprise, everybody fell in line with the proposals which she put forward, always politely, but with a manner that definitely presumed that there would be no hitch in their execution.
The transference to the car was affected without any serious trouble, though with more exertion than was really pleasant on so hot a day. Just as Gardiner was about to drive off, Benson came up with one more question to ask.
“I suppose, sir, that there’s no reason for keeping the coach where it is any longer?”
For a second Gardiner hesitated.
“No, I don’t think so,” he answered slowly.
“I don’t know why,” Miss Knox Forster put in, “but it smelt to me awfully frowsty and heady. Musty, as it were.”
Benson looked offended.
“The company washes all its coaches out thoroughly every day.”
“Then that will be washed out to-night?”
“Undoubtedly, sir. Unless you say that it should not be. And then perhaps I ought to give a reason.”
“N-no,” Gardiner hesitated. “I think it may be. In fact I think that I should do so pretty thoroughly. It will be done to-night, you say?”
“Yes, sir, or we may arrange to have it done here ourselves.”
“I see. Yes. Thank you.” Gardiner’s mind seemed to be wandering and he still seemed absent-minded as he drove his car slowly out of the station yard with Jim hanging on behind. It was not until Miss Knox Forster spoke to him that he seemed to remember what he was doing.
“Now why on earth did you say ‘Wash it thoroughly’?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Mightn’t be nice for other people if they didn’t.” It seemed a very vague answer.
The conversation stopped abruptly, even though there was no need for Gardiner to concentrate very closely on his driving in the empty and well-known by-road.
Scotney End, it occurred to him, was an out-of-the-way place for anyone of Cargate’s temperament to have selected. Men of his type usually went to a better known or more populous district, Surrey, for instance, and spoke of East Anglia in terms of faint contempt. But probably Scotney End Hall had itself been the attraction.
It certainly was very lovely with its warm red Tudor brick basking in the midday sun, the weathervane, high up on the roof, barely moving in the gentle breeze. The drive gate was open and they soon crossed over the moat that encircled the house on three sides, with tall elms standing on its banks, and past the low wall that surrounded the garden. To their left, in a long herbaceous border, the last of the lupins and delphiniums lingered, and the hollyhocks stood tall and many coloured, while on the other side the peach, nectarine and apricot trees showed the promise of a plentiful crop. Beyond were lawns, strangely enough not well kept, and the promise of shade from more fine trees.
“How one gardener kept it all up in the old days, I don’t know,” Miss Knox Forster remarked. “I suppose the people who were here did a good deal themselves, but even so—We were going to get some more people but gardeners aren’t easy to find if you want good ones. And there was difficulty too about getting a cottage for anyone.”
“I know. It doesn’t matter saying it now, but the people here thought you ought to have employed local people, so they weren’t anxious to make it easy for you by letting you have any accommodation at all.”
“Surly. And cutting their own throats really. But I believe you’re right; it’s rather what the vicar implied.”
“Yockleton? He’s a good chap really, but a bit crusty if you get the wrong side of him.”
“Which Mr. Cargate had—thoroughly. In fact they had a frightful quarrel yesterday. In which, so far as I can make out, Mr. Yockleton was entirely in the right.”
“Was he? Well, here we are.” Gardiner had apparently no desire to discuss the point and Joan Knox Forster, with a little pout, got out of the car. She had no particular desire to describe what had passed between her employer and the vicar but she did not like being sent about her business so obviously. However, there was no denying the fact that they had arrived at Scotney End Hall and that Raikes was coming out of the front door.
The butler seemed to be unnecessarily agitated and came up to Joan Knox Forster at once.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but I simply couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Help carry him up.” He seemed to find it difficult even to say the words.
Gardiner turned to him abruptly.
“But you’ve got to. It’ll take four of us. You can’t expect Miss Knox Forster to make one.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not as strong as I used to be.”
The doctor looked at him carefully. It certainly was true that he was past middle-age, but all the same he looked as if he ought to be capable of making the effort. Probably there was more truth in the broken sentences which he was now muttering about never having been able to bring himself to go near anything—anything like that. He glanced at the rug that covered what was in the back of the car and practically fled. His face seemed strangely white and unhappy to the doctor, whose own feelings on the subject had been hardened so long ago that he was incapable of remembering that they had ever been otherwise.
“He’s rather an old fool,” Miss Knox Forster commented drily, “but I didn’t think that he was quite so stupid as that. It’s a good thing that you didn’t jolt our friend here too badly so that he’s got here safely.” She pointed to Jim who was standing a little sheepishly by the wall of the house against which he had rested Miss Knox Forster’s bicycle—or to be accurate, the one which she had borrowed. He didn’t like riding a woman’s bicycle, and that was a fact.
However, before it was necessary for him to say anything, the one gardener whom Cargate had managed to retain at Scotney End appeared from round the corner of the house and, with Miss Knox Forster proving herself quite capable of carrying out the task which Raikes had refused, the remains of Henry Cargate were soon placed in peace on his own bed.
It had been a strange scene, Gardiner thought, as he drove off, for no one so far as he could make out, had pretended throughout to show the slightest signs of sorrow, for it could not be suggested that grief had been the cause of Raikes’s emotion. Indeed, it had seemed more like repugnance. There was no particular reason of course why any of them should have been distressed. After all, no one who had been there had been a friend, let alone a relation, and that perhaps was the real tragedy of Cargate’s life—that he was surrounded only by employees, by those whose a
ssistance he had bought. Gardiner wondered if that were equally true of Cargate’s friendships. Somehow he thought that it was, and for the first time he felt sorry for the man.
But he had no time to waste in indulging in such speculation. Soon there would be his temporarily neglected practice to attend to—he was getting hungry too and he had an unpleasant suspicion that he might find that there was no time for him to have any food. Above all he had to make a decision before he dropped Jim at Larkingfield Station. Was he to allow his recommendation as to the cleaning and removal of the coach to stand, or was he to countermand it? Assuming, that was, that Benson was still prepared to take his orders.
Making decisions as to his own conduct was at all times difficult to Dr. Gardiner, although he had to do so every day for other people. Often he would have liked to have had a second opinion before advising some treatment, even before prescribing a simple medicine, and if the advice he was giving involved a course of action, such as undergoing an operation, which, once done, could not be undone, his state of mind became almost pitiable. Perhaps he ought never to have taken up such a profession as medicine; almost certainly his vacillation had prevented him from having any chance of reaching the front rank of it.
He was still trying to decide when he found himself once more at Larkingfield Station, at the foot of the turning to which Benson was standing, signalling to him not to turn off the road on which he was.
“Get out at once, Jim. Quickly. You’re wanted as fast as ever you can go at Hinstead, Doctor; surgery has just rung up to say ‘Baby coming’.”
Before Gardiner had quite realized what he was doing, he found that he was driving on and that Benson and the porter were out of sight. Very well, then; fate had made the decision for him. Perhaps it would be all right. After all he had the snuffbox, the envelope and its contents. Moreover, the Coroner did not live such a long way from Hinstead.
