Mr. Sheringham Amuses an Ancient Rustic
After the blazing sun and the dust, the cool bar of the old-fashioned
little village inn, with its sanded floor and its brasses gleaming in
the soft twilight, was remarkably welcome.
Roger buried his nose thankfully in his tankard before getting to
business.
“My word, that’s good!” he observed in heartfelt tones to the
landlord, setting the tankard down half empty on the polished counter.
“There’s nothing like beer for thirst, is there?”
“That’s true enough, sir,” replied the landlord heartily, both because
it was good for trade and because he thoroughly believed it. “And you
can’t have too much of it on a day like this, I’m thinking,” he added,
with an eye to the former consideration.
Roger looked about him appreciatively.
“Nice little place you’ve got here.”
“Not so bad, sir. There ain’t a better bar parlour within ten miles,
though I say it as shouldn’t. You two gentlemen come far to-day?”
“Elchester,” said Roger briefly. He did not wish to divulge the fact
that he was staying at Layton Court, having no desire to waste time in
parrying the stream of questions that would inevitably result from
this information.
“Ah, then, you would have a thirst on you and all,” the landlord
remarked approvingly.
“We have,” agreed Roger, finishing up the contents of his tankard, “so
you can fill these up again for us.”
The landlord replenished the tankards and leaned confidentially over
the counter.
“You heard the noos? There ain’t half been goings on round these parts
this morning. Up at Layton Court. You’d pass it on the left coming
from Elchester; nigh on a mile back. Gentleman shot hisself there,
they say. The showver, ’e told me about it. Came in for a glass o’
beer, ’e did, same as what you two gentlemen might be doing now, an’
told me all about it. Wasn’t ’arf put out about it, ’e wasn’t. Wanted
the day off to-morrow, an’ now he can’t ask for it, what with having
to cart the police an’ everyone backwards and forwards an’ all.”
Roger hurriedly subdued the involuntary smile that had risen to his
lips on learning Albert’s personal view of the tragedy. It would have
made a striking epitaph, he felt. “Sacred to the memory of John Brown,
who died, greatly regretted by everybody, especially his chauffeur,
who wanted the day off.”
“Yes, I did hear something about it,” he replied carelessly. “Shocking
affair. And how do you find business round here?”
“Mustn’t complain, I suppose,” said the landlord guardedly; “this
bein’ the only public in the village, y’ see. An’ good drinkers they
are round these parts, too,” he added with enthusiasm.
“That’s fine. I like a man who can appreciate good beer when he gets
it. And I suppose you get quite a few strangers in here from time to
time as well?”
“No, none too many,” said the landlord regretfully. “We lie a bit off
the chief roads here, y’ see. Not but what a few walking gentlemen
such as yourselves don’t drop in now and then, for all that.”
“Yes, I suppose you get a walking gentleman now and then,” Roger
replied vaguely, wondering what exactly constituted a walking
gentleman, and whether he was the opposite to a running gentleman.
“How often would that be?”
“Well, sir, that depends, don’t it?” said the landlord cautiously,
evidently determined to be entrapped into no rash statements. “Yes,
that depends.”
“Does it? Well, take a special day. How many strangers came in
yesterday, for instance?”
“Lor’ bless you, sir, we don’t get ’em in like that; not so many in a
day. In a month, more like. Why, I don’t suppose there’s been a
stranger in this bar before you gents come in not for a matter o’
nearly a week.”
“You don’t say!”
“I do, sir,” retorted the landlord with much earnestness. “I do an’
all.”
“Well, I should have thought you’d have got plenty in a cosy little
place like this. Anyhow, you can be sure that I shall warn all my
friends to come and pay you a visit if they happen to be in the
neighbourhood. Better beer I’ve never tasted anywhere.”
“It _is_ good beer,” the landlord admitted, almost reluctantly. “Thank
you kindly, sir. And anything I can do in return for you and your
friends, I’m sure I’ll be most happy.”
“Well, you can do something now, as a matter of fact,” Roger rejoined
caressingly. “We’ve come over from Elchester to see Prince—er John,
you know. Up at Hillcrest Farm.”
The landlord nodded. “Aye; I know.”
“So if you could put us on the right road from here, we should be very
grateful.”
“Turn to the left when you get out of here and go straight on, sir,”
returned the landlord promptly. “You can’t miss it. First farm on the
right-’and side past the crossroads.”
“Thanks very much. Let me see, I’ve never actually met Prince before,
but he’s pretty easy to recognise, I understand. Big fellow, isn’t
he?”
“Aye, that ’e is. Matter o’ nigh on six feet from the top of his ’ead
down; when he ’olds ’is ’ead up, that is.”
“Ah, stoops a bit, does he?”
“Well, you might call it that, sir. ’Angs ’is ’ead, in a manner of
speakin’. You know ’ow they do.”
“Oh, yes; quite. Strong chap, too, isn’t he?”
“’E is, an’ all. It ’ud take all of six men to ’old him, if ’e did get
rampageous.”
“Pretty quiet usually, then, is he?”
“Oh, aye. ’E’s quiet enough.”
“But no fool, I gather. I mean, he’s pretty intelligent, isn’t he?”
The landlord chuckled hoarsely. “Lor’ bless you, no. Prince ain’t no
fool. ’E’s a clever devil, all right. Cunning, you might call ’im. Nor
you wouldn’t be far wrong, neither.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“Oh, pretty nigh every way,” said the landlord vaguely. “But it’s a
pity you two gents should have ’ad this walk out to-day. Prince was in
Helchester ’isself yesterday.”
“Oho!” observed Roger softly, with a side-glance at Alec. “He was, was
he?”
“Aye, at the Hagricultooral Show, ’e was.”
“Oh? What was he doing there?”
“Showin’.”
“Showing himself, was he?”
“Aye, that ’e was. An’ took a prize, too.”
“What a pity we didn’t know that; it would have saved us a journey
to-day. By the way, you don’t know what time he came back, do you? Mr.
Wetherby was there, too, I suppose?”
“Mr. Wetherby was there, but Prince didn’t come back with ’im. I see
Mr. Wetherby pass by ’ere on ’is mare soon after seven o’clock. Prince
wouldn’t ’ave come till a deal later than that. But they’ll tell you
up at the farm better nor I can about that.”
“Oh, well, it isn’t really of the least importance, so long as I can
see him up there now.”
“He’s up there now right enough, sir. You ask any of the men up there
an’ they’ll show you.”
Roger finished up the remains of his beer and put the tankard down on
the counter with a business-like air.
“Well, Alec,” he said briskly. “Time we were getting along if we’re
ever to get back to Elchester to-day.”
“You really are rather marvellous, you know, Roger,” Alec observed, as
they set out along the road once more.
“I know I am,” Roger said candidly. “But why particularly?”
“Carrying on a chat with the landlord like that. I couldn’t have done
it to save my life. I shouldn’t know what to say.”
“I suppose it comes naturally,” Roger replied complacently. “I’m a bit
of what our American friends call a mixer. As a matter of fact, I
thoroughly enjoy a yap with somebody like that; friend William, for
instance. And it all comes in useful, you know; local colour and so
on. But what about the information I was able to extract, eh?”
“Yes, we got a few more details, didn’t we?”
“Highly important ones, too. What do you make of Master Prince showing
on his own account at Elchester? That puts him in rather an
independent position, doesn’t it? And he wasn’t back till late last
night, you see. It all tallies.”
“Yes, we seem to be on the right track this time.”
“Of course we’re on the right track. How could we be anything else?
The evidence is overwhelming. As a matter of fact,” Roger added
thoughtfully, “I believe I can make a pretty good guess as to what
actually happened last night.”
“Oh? What?”
“Why, friend Prince, naturally somewhat elated at winning a prize at
the show, got drinking with some of the new pals he must have picked
up here and had a couple of drops too much. On his way back he passes
Layton Court and either rattles the side door and notices it ajar; in
any case, walks in and up to the French windows, which are open.
Stanworth, who we know was mortally afraid of him, jumps at his
appearance and threatens him with a revolver. In the struggle,
Stanworth is shot, either on purpose or accidentally. That sobers
friend Prince up more than a little, and, with the cunning we know him
to possess, he sets the stage for us to find the next morning. How’s
that?”
“It’s quite possible,” Alec admitted. “But what I want to know is—how
are we going to tackle Prince now?”
“Wait and see what happens. I shall get into conversation with him and
try to get him to account for his movements last night. If he gets
obstreperous, we shall simply have to lay him out; that’s all. You’ll
come in useful there, by the way.”
“Humph!” Alec observed.
“In any case,” Roger concluded enthusiastically, “it’s going to be
dashed exciting. You can take my word for that.”
There was no mistaking Hillcrest Farm. It lay on the top of a sharp
rise just as the landlord had described it. The two instinctively
slackened their steps as they approached, as if unconsciously
reconnoitring the scene of battle.
“I don’t want to enlist Wetherby just yet,” Roger murmured. “I think
we ought to try and tackle him ourselves. And we don’t want to give
the alarm in any case, or arouse any suspicions. That’s why I didn’t
put hundreds more questions to that landlord. What do you think?”
“Oh, absolutely. What about asking that old chap if he knows where
Prince is?”
“Yes, I will.” Roger strolled over towards the spot where an ancient
rustic was clipping one of Mr. Wetherby’s hedges. “I want to speak to
Mr. Prince,” he confided to the ancient. “Can you tell me where I
shall find him?”
“Sir?” queried the other, curving a large and horny hand round an
equally large and horny ear.
“I want to speak to Mr. Prince,” Roger repeated loudly. “Where is he?”
The ancient did not move. “Sir?” he remarked stolidly.
“Prince!” bawled Roger. “Where?”
“Oh, _Prince_! ’E’s in the next field alongside. Up ’tother end I seed
’im last, not above five minutes back.”
The horny palm ceased to function as an ear-trumpet and became a
receptacle for a spare shilling of Roger’s, and the two moved on. In
the side of the next field was set a sturdy gate. Roger swung himself
easily over it, the light of battle in his eyes. Alec followed suit,
and they advanced together up the centre of the field.
“I can’t see anyone here, can you?” Roger remarked, when they had gone
some little distance. “Perhaps he’s gone somewhere else.”
“Nothing but a cow in that corner. Is there any other way out of the
field? He didn’t get over that gate into the road within the last five
minutes. We should have seen him.”
Roger halted and gazed round carefully. “Yes, there’s a—— Hullo!
What’s the matter with that cow? She seems very interested in us.”
The cow, a large, powerful-looking animal, had indeed quitted its
corner and was advancing purposefully in their direction. Its head was
swaying curiously from side to side and it was emitting a noise not
unlike the hoot of a steamer.
“My God!” Alec shouted suddenly. “That isn’t a cow; it’s a bull! Run
like hell!”
Roger needed no second invitation; he set off at top speed in the wake
of the flying Alec. The bull, observing this disappointing procedure,
thundered after them. It was an exciting race while it lasted.
The result, some six seconds later, was as follows:
1. Mr. A. Grierson.
2. Mr. R. Sheringham.
3. Bull.
_Distance between first and second, ten yards; between second and
third, one five-barred gate (taken by the second in his stride)._
“’Strewth!” Roger observed with feeling, and collapsed incontinently
into a ditch.
A hoarse and grating noise caused them to look up. The noise emanated
from the ancient. He was laughing.
“Nearly ’ad you that time, gents,” he croaked joyfully. “Ain’t seen
him go fer anyone like that not since he went fer that Mr. Stanfoerth,
or whatever ’e calls ’isself—’im from Layton Court. I ought to ’ave
warned ’ee. You want ter be very careful o’ that there Prince John.”