Missing or Murdered

by Robin Forsythe

  “You can understand now that Winslade really never actually saw George Darnell’s face that night. His back was turned on Winslade while he extinguished the oil lamp on the landing above the hall; the journey to the car was completed in darkness; George Darnell was huddled in the back of the car until they had left road lamps far behind on the journey to Hartwood. Moreover, he has never been seen by Winslade since. His likeness to Lord Bygrave carried him through his visit to the White Bear Inn because he had not visited that hostelry for years. That egg-breakfast, tobacco, consumption of whisky, and key chain were all vital clues. The key chain bothered me at first, but when I examined the leather tab by which it is attached to the trouser button I found to my joy that the tab was torn, showing that it had been violently wrenched from Lord Bygrave’s person. It evidently carried the button of his trousers until George Darnell reached the stile at the cow-pond. There it parted company with it, purposely to give me another vital clue. It is unnecessary for me to point out that it was George Darnell who stayed at Glendon Street, and further hoodwinked Winslade and Farnish by avoiding a meeting with them.

  “At this stage of my story I must exonerate Mrs. Cathcart and Smale from all complicity in the acquisition of those bearer bonds. George Darnell, forging his wife’s handwriting and knowing her status as Lord Bygrave’s wife, extracted this money from him by a story of destitution. It may have even verged on blackmail for all I know, and have been the cause of the subsequent fatal affray at the Mill House, especially so if Bygrave had discovered that Mrs. Cathcart had never received the £10,000. Smale, who knew nothing of the existence of George Darnell, firmly believed that Mrs. Cathcart was the culprit, and had engineered a coup by threatening to disclose the story of their early marriage.”

  “How do you account for the complete disappearance of the body?” asked Heather quietly. “Who removed it during Winslade’s comparatively short absence from the Mill House?”

  “That is the vital point, Heather. It proves beyond all cavil that there must have been an accomplice in the crime, unless—and I can entertain no hope of such a contingency—Lord Bygrave is still alive and a prisoner somewhere.”

  “I have had the garden of the Mill House thoroughly dug up,” continued Heather, pouring himself out another glass of Volnay, “and the mill dam and stream dragged without any success. I can only conclude that the body was removed in some kind of conveyance.”

  “Your conclusion I feel is unassailable, Heather, and when I mention the fact that there were car tracks right into the yard behind the house, and recent traces of lubricating oil on the ground when I explored the place, I think you will agree that the point is definitely established.”

  “Why did George Darnell trouble to stay at the White Bear and risk discovery?” asked Heather.

  “He chose to pass the night under a roof in any case. He thereby also confirmed Winslade in his belief that it was his uncle and none other that he had driven from the Mill House to Hartwood. And—and—perhaps he was eager to secure something important in Lord Bygrave’s gladstone bag—money, or even papers—that would have on discovery led to his speedy arrest. Another, but minor point: he left his signet-ring, which I was certain on account of its size was not Bygrave’s, but was similar in every other detail. You know how often members of an old family wear plain signet-rings with the family crest engraved thereon. It was a tiny master stroke in its way.”

  “To revert to the question of that street lamp outside Mill House, Mr. Vereker,” said Heather pensively, “what made you think it had been extinguished before George Darnell and Mr. Winslade emerged from the front door?”

  Vereker was obliged to smile at this question.

  “You’re hot stuff, Heather,” he replied. “I examined it and found that by climbing on to the front garden wall and breaking a pane of glass it could easily be put out. As a matter of fact, a pane had been broken and replaced just before I examined it, because the putty was still fresh. In my effort to prove my theory my wrist touched the heated metalwork of the lamp, and I burnt myself rather badly, as you know.”

  “You mean sprained your wrist,” retorted Heather, with a loud laugh. “I knew you were fibbing, Mr. Vereker.”

  “Well, Heather, what’s the next move?” asked Vereker, as if to change the subject, because the factor of his burned wrist had already given him a vital clue to the identity of George Darnell’s still hidden accomplice.

  “We must track down this Mr. George Darnell as speedily as possible. He may already have left the country, and that will entail endless trouble and delay in bringing the whole matter to a successful close. We must also find Lord Bygrave’s body: that is absolutely essential. In the meantime we could, if we discover George Darnell’s whereabouts, proceed against him in the matter of those bearer bonds and the forgery of Mrs. Cathcart’s signature.”

  “I know where George Darnell is at the present moment,” said Vereker quietly, and was delighted to see that his information had the effect of making a distinct impression on the phlegmatic and imperturbable inspector. Producing Winslade’s letter, he tossed it carelessly across the table to Heather with the words, “As this discovery was not due to my brilliant work, inspector, I feel that I must share it with you and win my sovereign without taking any unfair advantages.”

  Inspector Heather scanned the letter swiftly and returned it. “That’s splendid, Mr. Vereker,” he said, rubbing his hands. “We’ll place him under strict surveillance at once and keep him there until such time as we can put him under lock and key. But time is precious, and I must take leave of you. The lunch, I think, is mine; I owe it you. Au revoir.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On Heather’s departure Vereker sat quietly over a coffee and finished his cigar. His face was flushed and his eyes alight with excitement, for he had but one further move to make to conclude his investigations and bring his connexion with the Bygrave case to an end. As he pondered a look of anxiety settled on his features, for he was wondering whether the astute Heather had also got on the track of that culminating point in the mystery. He was rather inclined to think he had and was keeping the trump card quietly up his sleeve. He would soon see. As for George Darnell, he could safely leave that scoundrel in the capable hands of Scotland Yard, but he must lose no time in making his final coup by bringing to light his accomplice in the crime. With a pleasant nod to Jacques, who bade him good day with foreign effusiveness, he sallied into the street and hailed a taxi.

  “I’m going to hire you for a goodish journey, driver,” he explained. “I want to get down to Carrington, a house just a mile or so from Nutfield, in Surrey. You know Nutfield?”

  “Oh, yes, sir; I come from Godstone, in Surrey, a couple of miles away.”

  “Good; well, drive there as quickly as you can. I want you to get there before the next train arrives at Redhill, the nearest station.”

  “Jump in, sir. I won’t apply the brakes till I hear the front lamps buckle,” said the driver, and the next moment they were on their way at top speed.”

  On arrival at Nutfield, Vereker bade his hire stop, and after inquiring of a villager the situation of Carrington House they speedily resumed the journey. Before reaching the entrance gate to Carrington House, Vereker got out and covered the short remaining distance on foot. As he walked briskly up the gravel drive he was constrained to admire how adroitly an old farm had been converted into a delightful country residence. Every point of the modern addition to the house and the carefully planned arrangement of surrounding garden and grounds revealed the consummate good taste of the occupant. The residence seemed an ideal retreat for a man of leisure with a love of the quiet of a rural existence.

  “Just such a place as I should like to retire to when I’m past active service,” thought Vereker. “Now, I hope that Mr. Grierson is in.”

  Mr. Grierson was in, and actually opened the door in answer to Vereker’s ring. A look of joyous surprise lit up his face on recognizing his visitor.

 
“Well, this is a most unexpected pleasure, Mr. Vereker,” he said cordially. “I’m delighted to see you. Come in, come in, or would you first like to have a look round my place? I seldom have the opportunity of showing it off to an appreciative eye.”

  “I should love to have a wander round, Mr. Grierson,” replied Vereker, “but I must postpone that treat until I have the opportunity of coming down again. My time is very limited and my business urgent. I have to be back in town as soon as possible.”

  “Ah, well, come down in the spring, when the rock-garden is at its best. I pride myself that I possess one of the finest rock-gardens in Surrey. Let me lead the way into the drawing-room—or rather study and drawing-room combined.”

  On entering that room Vereker’s swift eye was not slow to appreciate the beauty and fitness of the furnishing, and as his glance wandered round the walls he noted a magnificent collection of etchings. Here a Meryon, there a Whistler or a Seymour Haden. Only the choicest masters and specimens were represented.

  “They must be priceless,” thought Vereker, and wondered how old Grierson had been able to indulge in such an expensive luxury.

  Mr. Grierson noticed that observant and roving glance of Vereker’s. “My only treasures,” he explained; “they represent the savings of a life time. I have never regretted the renunciation of other pleasures that was necessary to effect their purchase.”

  “They were worth it all,” said Vereker, as he took a seat to which Mr. Grierson waved him with an easy gesture.

  “Well, Mr. Vereker,” he said, “I suppose you have come down to see me about the Bygrave case. I can think of no other reason for the visit.”

  “I have, Mr. Grierson, and I think you can give me the information I want.”

  “Did you call at the office?” asked the old man. “You know, I have retired. I couldn’t bear to think of further service under a new Chief and, besides, my time was up.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard of your retirement,” replied Vereker. “No doubt you have acted wisely. But, to come to the point, I have made rather a momentous discovery with regard to the mystery of Lord Bygrave’s disappearance, and it concerns his cousin, George Darnell. As an old friend of the Bygrave family, you possibly know something of this George Darnell.”

  “Good gracious, has he returned from America?” came the surprised question.

  “Yes, unfortunately for himself, he has. You do know him, then?”

  “Of course I do. I knew him intimately as a young man. Lord Bygrave, George and I were all boys together.”

  “What sort of a man was he?”

  “A very amiable and pleasant companion. Later on, owing to his gambling propensities, he got into serious trouble and left for America under a cloud. Lord Bygrave and he quarrelled bitterly at the time, and they have never communicated with one another since, as far as I know.”

  “You haven’t seen him since his return from America recently?” continued Vereker.

  “Certainly not, and I only hope that he doesn’t discover my retreat. From information I received some time ago from a friend in America, I hear he went to the dogs out there instead of rehabilitating himself and making good.”

  “Do you know a Mrs. Cathcart?” asked Vereker, and glanced up quickly to observe the effect of this question.

  “Who is she?” queried Mr. Grierson with a puzzled look.

  “She is supposed to be his wife. He contracted a marriage with her in America under the assumed name of Cathcart. On her part it was a bigamous marriage, because her actual husband, Lord Bygrave, was still living.”

  “Ah, then Lord Bygrave was secretly married,” commented Mr. Grierson with mild surprise. “Years ago I heard a rumour about a clandestine marriage, but I never could ascertain whether there was any truth in the story.”

  “Well, with regard to George Darnell, there is a very grave suspicion and considerable evidence that he is responsible for Lord Bygrave’s disappearance—perhaps even murder. Scotland Yard have now got him under strict surveillance and Inspector Heather, whom you have met, has gone to question him about the matter to-day.”

  “Heavens above!” exclaimed Mr. Grierson, raising his hands in horror, “What a dreadful business!”

  “I have hopes that the inspector will wring a confession from him,” continued Vereker, “but, as you know, the chief difficulty in bringing home a murder charge against him, or anyone else, is the fact that Lord Bygrave’s body has not yet been discovered.”

  “Naturally. If the man is guilty, I can only hope that they will speedily remove that difficulty and bring the scoundrel to the gallows,” said Mr. Grierson, and with a break in his voice added, “To think that my revered old Chief may have come by a violent end fills me with horror. I hope against hope that such may not be the case. The idea is monstrous.”

  “So, Mr. Grierson,” said Vereker, glancing at his watch, “you can give me no further information about Mr. George Darnell?”

  “I regret very much that I cannot. You see, it is thirty years ago since I met him. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.”

  “Thanks very much, Mr. Grierson; I’m sorry to have disturbed your peace by this intrusion about a very horrible affair, but you can understand that every fragment of information helps. The smallest fact may at any moment loom into proportions of unexpected importance. Now I must go.”

  “Shall I drive you down to Redhill Station?” asked Mr. Grierson. “You know, it’s a tidy distance from here.”

  “You drive a car, Mr. Grierson?” asked Vereker with surprise.

  “Oh, yes; there is not much traffic on these roads, and I’m still an active man as men of my age go.”

  “I won’t accept your offer,” continued Vereker; “I have a taxi waiting on the road for me. Thanks all the same. Au revoir.”

  “Don’t forget, Mr. Vereker, in the spring. Ah, you’ll see a sight to gladden your artist’s eye when you see my rock-garden. Good-bye.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On reaching his taxi Vereker bade the driver proceed to Redhill and there garage his cab until he required it, which he intimated would be late that night. In the interval of waiting he decided to kill time in Redhill by having a meal and visiting a cinema for an hour or so. Later on, as soon as it was dark, he would walk back to Carrington House and, with the aid of an electric torch, explore the grounds of that house unknown to its owner.

  “The polished old villain!” he muttered to himself as the taxi sped towards Redhill. “My story of George Darnell left him absolutely unshaken. What a nerve! And yet I cannot avoid the conclusion that he was Darnell’s accomplice. He is the one man who is, or was, intimately acquainted with that scoundrel, a significant enough fact in itself, and if I hadn’t observed on my first meeting him the lint bandage on his wrist, due probably to the very cause to which I owed my own injury, I might never have entertained any suspicion that he was implicated in the Bygrave Mystery. About his motive I am not thoroughly clear, but lack of money was doubtless the root of his participation in the crime. The manner and luxury of his life at present cannot possibly be accounted for by even the utmost thriftiness on his part in the past. His etchings alone are worth thousands of pounds, and the purchase and modernization of that old farm must have cost a small fortune. Where and how did he get the money? The possession of a car too! Apart from the cost of its maintenance that car fits in with the discovery that I made at the Mill House. Yes, Mr. Grierson, I am going to probe further into your affairs; I have a firm conviction that it will be fruitful.”

  On arrival at Redhill, Vereker dismissed his taxi and arranged with the driver to wait for him, at the last inn on the road to Bletchingley, until such time as he should make an appearance. After strolling about the town and feeling tired after his day’s exertions, he sauntered into an inn for refreshment, and was about to give his order when an exclamation of surprise from behind made him turn swiftly round to ascertain the cause.

  “Hello, Mr. Vereker. What are you going to drink
?” asked Inspector Heather, with a laugh. “I hardly expected to meet you here.”

  “I cannot say the same of you, Heather,” replied Vereker. “I guessed you’d be hot-foot on the trail as soon as possible, and I further knew that you wouldn’t pass the nearest pub to the station without calling in for your pint of beer.”

  “Well thought out, Mr. Vereker! I suppose you have just paid a call on our old friend, Mr. Grierson, late of the Ministry of X—?”

  “What makes you think that?” asked Vereker, affecting surprise.

  “Oh, only a trifling matter of a burned wrist,” replied the inspector, chuckling.

  “It was a flimsy enough clue, Heather,” agreed Vereker, “but it was a clue which I could not dismiss without involving Mr. Grierson.”

  “Flimsy enough, yes, but in conjunction with other clues a very helpful piece of evidence. Of course you were working on other information as well?”

  “None whatever, inspector. My journey down to Carrington House was a bow drawn at a venture, and I felt the weakness of my position. I suppose you have turned up here for the purpose of seeing Mr. Grierson?”