THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN SANDRINGHAM
Overton and Mr. Narkom had already turned away, and with a pleasant
"Good afternoon" to Mrs. Hurdon, Cleek moved off after them.
"Sorry to kep' you hanging round so late, gov'ner," he said, as he came
up and joined the land-steward, Narkom again dropping back into the
rear. "I never give a thought to how the time was flying until I see you
make a move."
"Oh, don't let that distress you, Mr. Headland," replied Overton, good
naturedly. "I have plenty of time at my disposal, fortunately. It was
only my horse I was worrying over. He gets a bit restless if he's tied
up too long, and that roadside sapling I fastened him to is none too
firm a thing if he should suddenly take it into his mind to go back to
the stables and leave me. You can see for yourself that he is beginning
to get uneasy."
Cleek could. The animal was exceedingly restless, so they quickened
their steps and got back to the road in time to take him before he did
any mischief.
A short walk brought them to the curve where the road went round the
bend of the Castle grounds and past the front elevation of the two
cottages, and there before them stood St. Saviour's, with its moss-grown
lich-gate, its well-worn footpath, its grim surroundings of sagging and
discoloured tombstones, and its scarred and time-worn bell-tower.
Tower and church stood back from the highway at a distance of some
thirty feet or more, and looking past them one could catch a glimpse
through the trees of the gate and the path which led to the adjoining
vicarage.
Cleek paused a moment and looked at the place. It seemed peaceful enough
in the waning light and the pleasant country hush--far too peaceful to
be in any way connected with matters of mystery and blood-shed.
"Seen a bit of time go over its head, that has," said he, as he struck a
match and lit his pipe. "That'll be the bell-tower over there to the
left, won't it, the round thing with the cement pavement all round it?"
"Yes. Would you like to go in and examine it? There's plenty of time."
"Not me. I want my supper and a good night's rest first. Will this be
the road where you saw that thing last night, Mr. Overton?"
"No. It is on the other side of the graveyard--over there, where you see
that row of trees in the distance. It runs parallel with this one. I
couldn't have come over from Willowby Old Church by this road, you
know. It takes another sharp turn presently, then another again, and
goes off in a totally different direction. I remember hearing an
American gentleman who was here last summer saying that he guessed it
must have been paced off by an Early Briton who'd just risen from
sitting down on a nest of bees and was hunting around for a drug store."
"Hallo!" interrupted Cleek, "this is the front of the Hurdons' cottage,
I see. They _do_ keep it tidy and no mistake. And the one adjoining it
is where the child disappeared, eh?"
"Yes. Would you care to go in and have a look at it? I haven't the key,
of course, but I could borrow Mrs. Hurdon's. They both have the one kind
of lock, so I dare say hers would do. Shall I ask?"
"No, thanks. That'll do for to-morrow--when the magnifying glass and the
other things arrive. Let's move on. I'm a bit tired and anxious to get
to our rooms. I can tell from the way my mate drags his feet that he's
about done up, too."
"He _is_ an uncommunicative beggar, and no mistake!" declared Overton,
with a laugh. "Hasn't spoken a blessed syllable the whole way. I should
say an oyster was about as sociable a companion for you as he."
"Oh, Jim's all right when you know him. Not much on the talk, I'll
allow; but deaf folks never is. I like him because he never worries me
none. Hallo! who's this Johnnie, I wonder? He looks a bit excited."
By this time they had negotiated the farther turning in the road and had
come in sight of a gate and a man standing before it--someone whom the
clustering lilac bushes completely screened from view.
"That will be Carstairs, he's butler at the Castle, you remember," said
Overton as he looked up and saw him. "The gate is the gate of the
vicarage. No doubt it's the vicar himself he's talking to."
It was, as they saw clearly when they came abreast of the place. But
even before they did so, the butler hearing their approach, looked round
and saw them, and Cleek could not remember when he had seen any man's
face and eyes express such exultation.
"Well, Carstairs, taking a constitutional before dinner-time?" inquired
Overton, genially. "Ah! good afternoon, Vicar. Instructing Carstairs how
to go about putting up the banns? He looks uncommonly well pleased."
"So I am, Mr. Overton; so I am, sir," declared Carstairs, with a
satisfaction openly manifest. "One doesn't serve a good master like His
Grace for years without being glad when good news comes his way--and
this will mean the lifting of a great cross from his shoulders, bless
him!"
"Now what do you mean by that? Something come to light about last
night's horrible affair, Vicar?"
"No, Mr. Overton, nothing at all--unfortunately. It appears that I have
been the means of imparting a piece of important news which has not yet
reached the Castle--although I naturally supposed that it had. I dare
say, however, that the duke was so much upset this morning that he
neglected to read his newspaper."
"There was something of importance in it, then?"
"Of very great importance, Mr. Overton. I had to send to my study for
the paper before I could convince Carstairs that I had not made a
mistake. Here it is--look! 'Tragic Close of a Mis-spent Life. English
Duke's Heir Murdered in Paris.' The victim, Mr. Overton, was Captain
Paul Sandringham. He was shot dead in the street in Paris last evening
by a Pole he had fleeced and ruined at cards."
Mr. Narkom glanced at Cleek; and Cleek catching that glance from the
tail of his eye began to smoke hard.
In Paris, eh? Not in England at all! So, then, whoever was engineering
this Valehampton affair, Captain Paul Sandringham was out of it. For
last night he was in France; last night he was a dead man; yet last
night the bells of St. Saviour's sent forth their peal as usual!