I don't think I shall ever forget Maurice's face! His cheeks went
the colour of grey ash, and for several seconds he stared at me with
a sort of incredulous horror. If I had any remaining doubt as to his
guilt, it was certainly settled in that dramatic interval.
At last, with a great effort, he recovered himself sufficiently to
give a sickly laugh.
"By Jove, you gave us a start, Stuart!" he said. "We were just
wondering whether you'd fallen into the creek."
"No," I replied cheerfully, "it was only my hat that went in." And
taking off the article in question, I held it up to the light so that
they could all see the bullet-hole.
"Great Scott!" cried York, "what's the meaning of that?" He seized
the hat, and began examining the damage with vast interest, Sir
George peering over his shoulder.
"It means," I retorted, "at least twenty-five shillings. That's one
of Lincoln & Bennett's best." Then, with a kindly eye on Maurice, I
proceeded to relate my spirited and entertaining experiences.
When I had finished there was a short silence. It was broken by Sir
George, who, with his usual intelligence, went straight to the heart
of the matter.
"B--b--but that was murder," he stammered, "cold-blooded murder!"
"I should describe it rather as hat slaughter," I said coolly, "but
the intention seems to have been pretty obvious."
Maurice, whose face had not regained its colour, broke in with an
oath. "It's those infernal marshmen!" he cried. "I've had trouble
with them before, but never anything of this kind."
"What do you mean?" asked York, looking up from the hat.
"Why, there's a gang of scoundrels round the coast who make their
living shooting duck. I was cautioned about them when I took the
place. They think they own the marsh, and that no one else has a
right to shoot there. I've heard lots of stories about their
blackguardly tricks, but of course I never imagined for a moment
they'd go as far as this." He turned to me. "My dear chap," he
added, "I can't tell you how sorry I am."
I thought I could tell him very accurately, but I contented myself
with shaking the hand that he thrust impulsively out.
"Don't worry about it, Maurice," I said. "These little accidents
will happen."
"You take it uncommonly coolly, Northcote," broke in Sir George. "If
it had happened to me, I'd have had the whole damned countryside
arrested by now--by Gad, I would!"
"I shall put it in the hands of the police at once," said Maurice.
"Do you think you could recognise the two men?"
I should love to have said yes, just for the pleasure of watching his
face; but I thought it might be a bit awkward to make such a
statement in view of a subsequent visit from the police.
"I couldn't swear to them," I said, "but I dare say the obliging
stranger at the Plough could. He got a better sight of them than I
did."
This, without committing Billy, could, I thought, at least give
Maurice an unpleasant quarter of an hour.
"Well, it's disgraceful!" burst out Vane; "that's what it
is--disgraceful! It's all this confounded Government--setting class
against class--that leads to this kind of thing. If I had my way,
I'd shoot them down--every man Jack of them."
I was a little in the dark as to who Sir George's imaginary victims
might be, but, in any case, the sentiment struck me as being a fairly
sound one.
"Perhaps we'd better not say anything further about it to-night," I
suggested. "I don't want the loss of a hat to disturb the whole
house."
There was a look of relief on Maurice's face. "You're right,
Stuart," he said. "It would only upset the women. We'll go over to
Woodford first thing in the morning and see the Inspector. I'll have
these brutes run to earth: you may be sure of that."
With this comforting assurance, we separated to dress for dinner.
The latter meal, and indeed all the rest of the evening, passed off
cheerfully enough. Lady Baradell and Miss York both seemed to be in
excellent spirits, chaffing us unmercifully over the very minute bag
of duck (one and a half couple) which we had managed to bring back
from our expedition. I could not help wondering what they would have
said if they had known as much about the sporting possibilities of
the Suffolk coast as I did.
I went to bed early, and just for a change passed a quite uneventful
night. I had become so used to entertaining beautiful ladies or
grappling with would-be assassins that for a time I felt positively
neglected. However, if the night was dull, the next day promised to
be exciting enough, so I consoled myself with this reflection and
went peacefully off to sleep.
The topic of our visit to the police was broached tactfully at
breakfast next morning by Maurice.
"I am afraid Stuart and I will have to run over to Woodford on
business," he announced.
There was an immediate chorus of protest from the ladies. "Oh, but
we've promised to give them their revenge at tennis," said Miss York.
"I didn't know there was any business at Woodford," remarked Lady
Baradell. "I thought the entire population spent their time talking
politics at the street corners."
"Oh, it's only a little matter," said Maurice. "It won't take us
long. We'll drive over in the trap, and I'll be back here by eleven."
"Well, if you must go," put in Aunt Mary, "you might tell Cooper to
send some marmalade. You remember, Stuart; Maurice is sure to
forget."
I pledged my word that the marmalade should be faithfully dispatched;
and with these two somewhat incongruous errands before us, we set
forth after breakfast in a dogcart. Maurice, who was handling the
reins, seemed to be a little depressed.
"I hope the police will be able to find the scoundrels without making
too much fuss about it," he said, flicking the steed viciously with
his whip. "One doesn't want the papers to get hold of a thing like
this."
I quite believed that nothing would annoy him more. "We must hope
for the best," I said cheerfully. "I don't mind a little trouble, if
I can help you clear the neighbourhood of a gang like that."
I have no doubt that he was grateful for this magnanimous sentiment,
but he didn't trouble to express it in words. We tooled on down the
road in silence, and passing through the outskirts of Woodford, drew
up at the police station, where a polite gentleman in corduroy
trousers shambled forward from a side-walk and took the horse's head.
On the steps stood a depressed-looking constable, who touched his
helmet when he recognised Maurice.
"Is the Inspector in?" asked the latter.
The constable at once brisked up. "Yes, sir; just come along 'arf a
minute ago. D'ye want to see him, sir?"
Maurice nodded, and clambering out of the trap, we followed Robert up
the steps and into the office.
The Inspector, a large, solid-looking person, was seated at a desk
laboriously writing. As we entered he laid down his pen with a sigh
and wiped his fingers on his trousers.
"Good morning, Mr. Furnivall," he said. "What can I have the
pleasure of doing for you this morning?" Then, seeing me, he added
politely: "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Inspector," said Maurice. "We have come on rather a
serious business."
The Inspector assumed what I can only imagine he meant for an
official expression. Placing his hands on his knees and turning his
toes in, he leaned forward and scowled at us.
"How's that, sir?" he inquired.
I felt a wild desire to retort, "Not a bit like it!" but fortunately
Maurice took up the dialogue. In curt and apparently indignant
phrases he described the gross outrage of the previous day, turning
every now and then to me to confirm his statements.
"Poaching and robbery," he finished, "I can put up with, but when it
comes to a cold-blooded and deliberate attempt to murder one of my
guests, I think it is time that the police interfered."
A more dumbfounded man than that poor police inspector I have seldom
seen. He listened to the story with an amazement that bordered on
the pathetic, and when Maurice had finished, produced a red cotton
handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Lord bless us, Mr. Furnivall!" he observed. "Who'd have thought it?"
Then his professional instincts got the better of him. "I'll make a
note or two of your statement while it's fresh in me mind," he added,
pulling out a large notebook. "What time might the incident have
occurred?"
"The incident," I replied, "occurred as nearly as possible at a
quarter to six."
"Ah!" said he, jotting down the fact; "and maybe, sir, you'd be able
to recognise the men?"
I shook my head. "I doubt it," I said. "It was getting a bit dusk,
and I wasn't exactly in a position to stare at them. You'd better
try the gentleman at the Plough who came to my rescue. He had a much
better sight of them."
"Ah!" said the Inspector, "his name being----?"
"Oh, Loman," said I, "or something like that."
The Inspector wrote it down, and then shut his notebook with a
determined air.
"I'll look into the matter at once, gentlemen," he said. "I don't
want to make no promises, but I reckon that by to-morrow we ought to
know something about it. They're a rough lot, them marshmen, but
this'll be a lesson to 'em. I'll teach them they can't go shooting
at gents promiscuous like--not while I'm Inspector."
This little personal touch rather appealed to me.
"Thank you," I said. "I'm sure the case couldn't be in more
efficient hands. I'm going over to the Plough now, so I'll tell Mr.
Loman, or whatever his name is, that you'd like to see him."
We went outside, where the gentleman in corduroy trousers was still
affectionately clutching the horse's bridle under the critical eye of
the constable.
"Are you coming with me?" I asked Maurice. "I should like to
introduce you to my rescuer--he seems rather a decent sort of chap."
Maurice shook his head, I thought a trifle sullenly. "I must get
back for the tennis," he said. "Ask your friend over to Ashton
to-morrow--he might like to see the cricket."
Considering that he believed Billy to be responsible for spoiling his
admirable arrangements, this seemed to me really handsome.
"Right you are," I said cheerfully. "I shall have a look at the car
afterwards, so don't expect me till you see me. By the way, isn't
there a tea-fight or something on this afternoon?"
Maurice nodded. "The Cuthberts are giving a garden-party, and I
believe Aunt Mary said some of us might stroll over. But don't you
bother about it, if you've made other arrangements." He brought out
the latter remark with a kind of suggestive leer, that told me
plainly he was thinking of Lady Baradell.
"Thanks," I said coolly. "You're an ideal host, Maurice." And
leaving him to chew over this compliment at his leisure, I strolled
across the street in the direction of the Plough.
I found Billy sitting alone in the bar parlour reading the morning
paper, and taking an occasional pull at a large tankard of ale.
"I hope I'm not interrupting your breakfast, Billy," I said.
He jumped up smiling, and flung down the paper on the seat.
"I guessed you'd be over early," he said.
"Then you guessed more than I did," I retorted. "Why this
confidence?"
He walked round behind the bar, and taking down an envelope which was
sitting up among the bottles, tossed it across to me.
"Here's your love letter, my son," he said. "I told the barmaid
you'd be in for it this morning."
I picked it up, remembering with a sudden thrill of pleasure my
message to Mercia.
"When did this come, Billy?" I asked.
"A boy brought it last night about half-past nine. I happened to be
in here, so I told them you were staying at Ashton, and would no
doubt be calling round after breakfast. Not a bad shot--eh? Who is
it? The lady with the gun?"
I tore open the envelope and quickly read the contents--
"I will be in the old windmill just beyond Barham Bridge at four
o'clock."
There was no signature, but I didn't need one.
"Since you took up detective work, Billy," I said, "your powers of
deduction are improving."
He chuckled, and coming back from behind the bar flung open the
French window.
"Let's go out into the garden," he said. "I've tons to tell you, and
the barmaid will be back here in a minute."
We went down the steps which led to the square patch of lawn behind
the house, and seated ourselves on an old wooden bench in the
sunshine.
"Things are moving," I said, taking out a pipe and beginning to fill
it with some care. "Maurice and I have just been interviewing the
local inspector. The attempted murder of Mr. Stuart Northcote is now
a problem for the police."
Billy whistled. "That's good," he observed. "Did Maurice give 'em
any tips?"
"No," I returned; "they're looking to you for those. I've explained
how an obliging tripper, residing at the Plough, sailed in and
rescued me. You're quite a hero, Billy. The police want to see you
as soon as possible, and Maurice has asked me to invite you over to
Ashton to-morrow to watch the cricket match."
Billy slapped his knee. "That's good travelling," he observed,
"precious good. But don't think you're the only one who's making
history. I've got a little shock to spring on you that knocks spots
off any of your news." He paused, and then tapped the note which I
was still holding in my hand. "Do you know where your fair
assassin's hanging out?"
I shook my head.
"Miss Mercia Solano," said Billy, leaning back and folding his arms,
"is, at the present moment, the honoured guest of M. Baretti."
I jumped up off the bench. "Good Lord, Billy!" I said, "is that a
fact?"
He nodded. "And what's more," he added, "I've seen her. Last night,
after that note came, I slipped out and went up to the Hollies.
First of all I had a good look at the place from the road. All the
blinds were down and the shutters closed in front, so I made a bit of
a circle and got in through the plantation at the back. There was a
window open there on the second floor, with a light in the room.
Well, to cut the yarn short, I climbed up one of the trees nearest
the house and had a squint in."
"And you actually saw Mercia?" I demanded.
"I saw the whole charming bunch of 'em," said Billy. "There was
Dot-and-carry-one; and the gentleman who put a bullet through your
hat; and a frowsy-looking sort of female; and last, but not least,
your own particular bit of trouble. At least, I suppose it was. A
well-built sort of girl, with stunning eyes?"
I looked at him with pity. "You have your points, Billy," I said,
"but don't try to describe a beautiful woman. What were they doing?"
"Jawing at her, as far as I could make out," he answered, with a
grin. "Of course, I couldn't hear anything--I was too far away; but
I could see them waggling their hands and shrugging their shoulders
in the best Dago fashion. Looked to me as if they were trying to
persuade her to do something she didn't want to--stick a knife into
you, I expect."
"I shouldn't wonder," I said, "but I'll find out this afternoon.
She's going to meet me at four o'clock."
Billy frowned. "Isn't that rather running your head into it
unnecessarily?" he asked. "She's staying with them in the house,
and, after all, you know precious little about her."
"That's just the reason why I want to find out some more," I
retorted. Then, laying my hand on his shoulder, I added more
seriously: "I've got to see her Billy; I can't get on without her any
longer."
He grunted. "Well, it's no good saying anything if you've made up
your mind: I know that. All the same, I think you're an ass, my son.
What are your plans?"
"Well," said I, "I thought I'd hang about here and look at the car
and do a bit of shopping while you went across and interviewed the
police. Then we might have some lunch, and after that I'll go off
and meet Mercia."
"Where's the trysting tree?" inquired Billy.
I gave him the note.
He read it through, grunted again, and then handed it back to me.
"You know your own business best," he said, "but, if you take my tip,
you'll shove a gun of some sort in your pocket. Where is this
blessed windmill?"
"I don't know," I said, "but I'll find out while you're making love
to the Inspector."
"What am I to say to him?" demanded Billy.
"Oh, just tell him that you were out duck-shooting, and spotted two
sportsmen blowing holes through my hat. If he asks you whether you
could recognise them, you'd better say they were a couple of
rough-looking blackguards something like police constables. We don't
want him to get on to the Hollies yet awhile."
Billy laughed. "All right," he said, getting up; "I'll handle him
with gloves on. I may as well be off now. Don't get into any more
mischief while I'm away."
We parted company outside the hotel, Billy going off to the police
station, and I strolling up the street in search of Aunt Mary's
marmalade. Having secured this, and given instructions that it was
to be sent to Ashton at once, I proceeded to make a further
inspection of the old town. My wanderings brought me eventually to
the bar parlour of the Bull, the second principal hotel, which struck
me as a very suitable place for making inquiries as to the
whereabouts of Barham Bridge.
I was enlightened on this point by a genial, clean-shaven gentleman
in sporting get-up, who was engaged in shifting a morning
sherry-and-bitters.
"Barham Bridge!" he said. "Oh yes; it's about two miles up the road
to the left. You can't mistake it, because there's an old ruined
mill standing back in the field just beyond."
I thanked him, and we chatted away cheerfully for about a quarter of
an hour, in the course of which I discovered that his name was
Cumming, that he lived in the neighbourhood, was a keen yachtsman,
and by profession a well-known writer of bloodthirsty
adventure-stories for the popular weekly papers. I only regretted
that circumstances prevented me from being equally confidential. But
for my promise to Northcote, I felt that I could have given him a
plot which would have made him my friend for life!
Returning to the Plough, I received the key of the garage and
indulged in a brief inspection of the car. My knowledge of motors is
decidedly limited, but as she started up all right, it seemed to me
that there couldn't be much the matter with her. So I contented
myself with filling up the petrol tank and pumping in some oil. It
was while I was engaged in the latter operation that Billy reappeared.
"They told me you were out here," he said. "Nothing the matter with
the car, is there?"
"No," I said, "she's all right. I was only filling her up, because
I'm thinking of using her this afternoon. How did you get on with
the Inspector?"
Billy smiled wickedly. "We've made great friends," he said. "I'm
going down on the marsh with him this afternoon to help hunt out the
criminals. He says it's a dangerous job."
"It will be a pretty thirsty one," I returned, "if you stick to it
long enough. I'm afraid you've been stuffing the poor man up
shamelessly, Billy."
"He didn't want it," chuckled Billy, thrusting his arm through mine.
"I do, though. Come inside and have some grub. The chase starts at
half-past two."
We entered the long dining-room, where an elderly waiter brought us
an excellent lunch of cold partridge and Stilton cheese, which we
assisted in its progress with a couple of bottles of Jacob's
Pilsener. As Billy said, "You can't hunt murderers on air," a remark
which I considered applied with equal force to the nice conduct of a
somewhat complicated love scene.
"Besides, that's not all my day's work," he added. "When I get back,
I'm going to pay another call at the Hollies. There's a drain pipe
under that window which looks as if it would bear my weight all
right."
"Look here, Billy," I protested, "it's my show and you're doing all
the dangerous part of it."
"That's a matter of opinion," he laughed. "Anyhow, I'm quite
satisfied. If you'll tackle Miss Mercia Solano, I'll take on Humpty
Dumpty and the others with the greatest pleasure."
He got up, glancing at his watch. "I must be off," he added. "I
promised to call for Sherlock at a quarter-past, and one mustn't keep
the Law waiting. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. What time
does the cricket match start?"
"Oh, Goodness knows," said I: "about eleven, I suppose."
"Well, I'll be around some time in the morning. So long, old son,
and don't forget that all women are born liars."
"Except Mercia," I added.