“What do you make of it, Inspector?” asked my friend.
Detective-Inspector Wessex smiled, and scratched his chin.
“There was no need for me to come down!” he replied. “And certainly no
need for you, Mr. Harley!”
Harley bowed, smiling, at the implied compliment.
“It's a common or garden elopement!” continued the detective. “Vane's
reputation is absolutely rotten, and the girl was clearly infatuated. He
must have cared a good bit, too. He'll be cashiered, as sure as a gun!”
Leaving Sir Howard at the Manor, we had joined Inspector Wessex at a
spot where the baronet's preserves bordered a narrow lane. Here the
ground was soft, and the detective drew Harley's attention to a number
of footprints by a stile.
“I've got evidence that he was seen here with the girl on other
occasions. Now, Mr. Harley, I'll ask you to look over these footprints.”
Harley dropped to his knees and made a brief but close examination of
the ground round about. One particularly clear imprint of a pointed toe
he noticed especially; and Wessex, diving into the pocket of his light
overcoat, produced a patent-leather shoe, such as is used for evening
wear.
“He had a spare pair in his bag,” he explained nonchalantly, “and his
man did not prove incorruptible!”
Harley took the shoe and placed it in the impression. It fitted
perfectly!
“This is Molly Clayton, I take it?” he said, indicating the prints of a
woman's foot.
“Yes,” assented Wessex. “You'll notice that they stood for some little
time and then walked off, very close together.”
Harley nodded absently.
“We lose them along here,” continued Wessex, leading up the lane; “but
at the corner by the big haystack they join up with the tracks of a
motor-car! I ask for nothing clearer! There was rain that afternoon, but
there's been none since.”
“What does the Captain's man think?”
“The same as I do! He's not surprised at any madness on Vane's part,
with a pretty woman in the case!”
“The girl left nothing behind--no note?”
“Nothing.”
“Traced the car?”
“No. It must have been hired or borrowed from a long distance off.”
Where the tracks of the tires were visible we stopped, and Harley made a
careful examination of the marks.
“Seems to have had a struggle with her,” he said, dryly.
“Very likely!” agreed Wessex, without interest.
Harley crawled about on the ground for some time, to the great detriment
of his Harris tweeds, but finally arose, a curious expression on his
face--which, however, the detective evidently failed to observe.
We returned to the Manor House where Sir Howard was awaiting us, his
good-humoured red face more red than usual; and in the library, with
its sporting prints and its works for the most part dealing with riding,
hunting, racing, and golf (except for a sprinkling of Nat Gould's novels
and some examples of the older workmanship of Whyte-Melville), we were
presently comfortably ensconced. On a side table were placed a generous
supply of liquid refreshments, cigars and cigarettes; so that we made
ourselves quite comfortable, and Sir Howard restrained his indignation,
until each had a glass before him and all were smoking.
“Now,” he began, “what have you got to report, gentlemen? You,
Inspector,” he pointed with his cigar toward Wessex, “have seen Vane's
man and all of you have been down to look at these damned tracks. I only
want to hear one thing; that you expect to trace the disgraceful couple.
I'll see to it”--his voice rose almost to a shout--“that Vane is kicked
out of the service, and as to that shameless brat of Bramber's, I wish
her no worse than the blackguard's company!”
“One moment, Sir Howard, one moment,” said Harley quietly; “there are
always two sides to a case.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Harley? There's only one side that interests
me--the outrage inflicted upon my hospitality by this dirty guest of
mine. For the girl I don't give twopence; she was bound to come to a bad
end.”
“Well,” said Harley, “before we pronounce the final verdict upon either
of them I should like to interview Bramber. Perhaps,” he added, turning
to Wessex, “it would be as well if Mr. Knox and I went alone. The
presence of an official detective sometimes awes this class of witness.”
“Quite right, quite right!” agreed Sir Howard, waving his cigar
vigorously. “Go and see Bramber, Mr. Harley; tell him that no blame
attaches to himself whatever; also, tell him with my compliments that
his stepdaughter is------”
“Quite so, quite so,” interrupted Harley, endeavouring to hide a smile.
“I understand your feelings, Sir Howard, but again I ask you to reserve
your verdict until all the facts are before us.”
As a result, Harley and I presently set out for the gamekeeper's
cottage, and as the man had been warned that we should visit him, he was
on the porch smoking his pipe. A big, dark, ugly fellow he proved to be,
of a very forbidding cast of countenance. Having introduced ourselves:
“I always knowed she'd come to a bad end!” declared Gamekeeper Bramber,
almost echoing Sir Howard's words. “One o' these gentlemen o' hers was
sure to be the finish of her!”
“She had other admirers--before Captain Vane?”
“Aye! the hussy! There was a black-faced villain not six months since!
He got t' vain cat to go to London an' have her photograph done in a
dress any decent woman would 'a' blushed to look at! Like one o' these
Venuses up at t' Manor! Good riddance! She took after her mother!”
The violent old ruffian was awkward to examine, but Harley persevered.
“This previous admirer caused her to be photographed in that way, did
he? Have you a copy?”
“No!” blazed Bramber. “What I found I burnt! He ran off, like I told her
he would--an' her cryin' her eyes out! But the pretty soger dried her
tears quick enough!”
“Do you know this man's name?”
“No. A foreigner, he was.”
“Where were the photographs done--in London, you say?”
“Aye.”
“Do you know by what photographer?”
“I don't! An' I don't care! Piccadilly they had on 'em, which was good
enough for me.”
“Have you her picture?”
“No!”
“Did she receive a letter on the day of her disappearance?”
“Maybe.”
“Good day!” said Harley. “And let me add that the atmosphere of her home
was hardly conducive to ideal conduct!”
Leaving Bramber to digest this rebuke, we came out of the cottage. Dusk
was falling now, and by the time that we regained the Manor the place
was lighted up. Inspector Wessex was waiting for us in the library, and:
“Well?” he said, smiling slightly as we entered.
“Nothing much,” replied Harley dryly, “except that I don't wonder at the
girl's leaving such a home.”
“What's that! What!” roared a big voice, and Sir Howard came into the
room. “I tell you, Bramber only had one fault as a stepfather; he wasn't
heavy-handed enough. A bad lot, sir, a bad lot!”
“Well, sir,” said Inspector Wessex, looking from one to another,
“personally, beyond the usual inquiries at railway stations, etc.,
I cannot see that we can do much here. Don't you agree with me, Mr.
Harley?”
Harley nodded.
“Quite,” he replied. “There is a late train to town which I think we
could catch if we started at once.”
“Eh?” roared Sir Howard; “you're not going back to-night? Your rooms are
ready for you, damn it!”
“I quite appreciate the kindness, Sir Howard,” replied Harley; “but I
have urgent business to attend to in London. Believe me, my departure is
unavoidable.”
The blue eyes of the baronet gleamed with the simple cunning of his
kind.
“You've got something up your sleeve,” he roared. “I know you have, I
know you have!”
Inspector Wessex looked at me significantly, but I could only shrug my
shoulders in reply; for in these moods Harley was as inscrutable as the
Sphinx.
However, he had his way, and Sir Howard hurriedly putting a car in
commission, we raced for the local station and just succeeded in picking
up the express at Claybury.
Wessex was rather silent throughout the journey, often glancing in my
friend's direction, but Harley made no further reference to the case
beyond outlining the interview with Bramber, until, as we were parting
at the London terminus, Wessex to report to Scotland Yard and I to go to
Harley's rooms:
“How long do you think it will take you to find that photographer,
Wessex?” he asked. “Piccadilly is a sufficient clue.”
“Well,” replied the Inspector, “nothing can be done to-night, of course,
but I should think by mid-day tomorrow the matter should be settled.”
“Right,” said Harley shortly. “May I ask you to report the result to me,
Wessex?”
“I will report without fail.”