CREWE spent two days in making investigations at Cliff Farm and at
Ashlingsea. He went over the farm very carefully in search of any trace
of disturbed ground which might indicate where old James Lumsden had
buried the money he had obtained from the sale of his investments. But
he found nothing to support the theory that the money had been buried
in the fields.
There were, of course, innumerable places where a few bags of money
might be hidden, especially along the brook which ran through the farm,
but though Crewe searched along both banks of the brook, as well as in
the open fields, he found no trace of disturbed ground. The garden, he
ascertained, had been thoroughly searched under the direction of Frank
Lumsden.
Crewe realized that searching for the money without the assistance of
the mysterious plan which Marsland had seen on the staircase was almost
hopeless, and he was not affected by his failure.
His inquiries at Ashlingsea concerned the character and habits of the
grandfather and the murdered man. In the course of his inquiries about
the grandson he went up to London and called on the former employers of
Frank Lumsden, and the firm of Messrs. Tittering & Hammings, wholesale
leather merchants, gave Frank an excellent character. He had been a
sober, industrious, and conscientious clerk, and they were greatly
shocked at the fate that had befallen him. They could throw no light on
the murder, for they knew of no one who had any enmity against Frank.
Inquiries were also made by Crewe at the headquarters of the London
Rifle Brigade, in which the young man had enlisted. His military record
was good, and threw no light on his tragic fate.
Crewe returned to Staveley to continue his work on the case. Sir George
Granville, in his anxiety to be helpful in solving the mystery, put
forward many suggestions to his guest, but they were not of a practical
kind. On points where Crewe did ask for his host's assistance, Sir
George was unable to respond, in spite of his eagerness to play a
part in the detective's investigations. For instance. Sir George was
not able to give any information about the old boatman whom Crewe and
Marsland had seen at the landing-place, at the foot of the cliffs near
the scene of the tragedy.
Sir George had often seen the man in the scarlet cloak, and knew that
he plied for hire on the front, but he had never been in the old man's
boat, and did not know where he lived or anything about him beyond the
fact that he was called Pedro by the Staveley boatmen, and was believed
to be an Italian.
"I'll tell you what, Crewe," said Sir George, a bright idea occurring
to him as the result of reactionary consciousness that he was not a
mine of information in local matters. "You go up and see Inspector
Murchison. He's a rare old gossip. He has been here for a generation
and knows everybody and all about them. And mention my name--I'll give
you my card. You will find he will do anything for me. I'd go along
with you myself, only I have promised to make a call with Mildred.
But Harry will go with you--Harry knows Murchison; I introduced him
yesterday on the front."
After lunch, Crewe, accompanied by Marsland, walked up to the police
station at Staveley to call on Inspector Murchison. The police station
was a building of grey stone, standing back in a large garden. It would
have been taken for a comfortable middle-class residence but for the
official notices of undiscovered crime which were displayed on a black
board erected in the centre flower-bed. A young policeman was sitting
writing in a front room overlooking the garden, which had been turned
into a general office.
Crewe, without disclosing his name or using Sir George's card, asked
him if he could see the inspector in charge. The young policeman,
requesting him to take a seat, said he would inquire if the inspector
was disengaged, and disappeared into an inner office. He shortly
returned to say that Inspector Murchison would see them, and ushered
them into the inner office, where a police officer sat writing at a
large desk.
Inspector Murchison of Staveley was in every way a contrast to
Police-Sergeant Westaway of Ashlingsea. He was a large and portly man
with a good-humoured smile, twinkling blue eyes, and a protecting
official manner which ladies who had occasion to seek his advice found
very soothing. He had been stationed at Staveley for nearly thirty
years, but instead of souring under his circumscribed existence like
Sergeant Westaway, he had expanded with the town, and become more
genial and good-tempered as the years rolled on.
He was a popular and important figure in Staveley, taking a deep and
all-embracing interest in the welfare of the town and its inhabitants.
He was a leading spirit in every local movement for Staveley's
advancement; he was an authority in its lore, traditions, vital
statistics, and local government; he had even written a booklet in
which the history of Staveley was set forth and its attractions as a
health and pleasure resort were described in superlative terms. He
was regarded by the residents as a capable mentor and safe guide in
all affairs of life, and was the chosen receptacle of many domestic
confidences of a delicate and important nature. Husbands consulted him
about their wives' extravagance; wives besought him to warn husbands
against the folly of prolonged visits to hotels on the front because
there happened to be a new barmaid from London.
It was striking proof of Inspector Murchison's rectitude that,
although he was the repository of as many domestic histories as a
family physician or lawyer, none of the confidences given him had
ever become common gossip. For all his kindly and talkative ways, he
was as secret and safe as the grave, despite the fact that he had a
wife and five grown-up daughters not less curious than the rest of
their sex. He was an efficient police officer, carefully safeguarding
the public morals and private property entrusted to his charge, and
Staveley shopkeepers, as they responded to his smiling salutations when
he walked abroad, felt that they could sleep in peace in their beds,
safe from murder, arson, or robbery, while his portly imposing official
personality guarded the town.
Inspector Murchison swung round on his office chair as Crewe and
Marsland were brought in by the young policeman.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked courteously.
"This is Mr. Crewe," said Marsland. "Mr. Crewe has been making
inquiries about the murder at Cliff Farm."
"Glad to see you both," said Inspector Murchison, extending his hand.
"If I can be of any assistance to Mr. Crewe he has only to say so. Of
course I've heard all about the murder at Cliff Farm. It was you who
discovered the body, Mr. Marsland. A terrible affair. Poor, inoffensive
Frank Lumsden! I knew him well, and his grandfather too--a queer old
stick. Buried his money where no one can find it. And that is what is
at the back of this murder, Mr Crewe, I have no doubt."
"It certainly looks like it," said Crewe.
"What is your opinion, inspector, with regard to the money?" asked
Marsland. "Do you think that young Lumsden found it and refused to pay
the legacies, or that it has never been found?"
"It has never been found," said Inspector Murchison in a positive
tone. "I'm quite certain of that. Why, it is scarcely more than a week
ago that young Lumsden and his friend Brett came to ask me if I could
throw any light on it. They had a mysterious looking cryptogram that
young Lumsden had found among his grandfather's papers, and they were
certain that it referred to the hidden money. They showed it to me, but
I could not make head or tail of it. I recommended them to go and see
a man named Grange who keeps a second-hand book shop in Curzon Street,
off High Street. He's a bibliophile, and would be able to put them on
the track of a book about cryptograms, even if he hadn't one in stock
himself."
"What was the cryptogram like?" asked Marsland. "Was it like this?" He
took up a pen from the table and attempted to reproduce a sketch of the
mysterious document he had found on the stairs at Cliff Farm.
"Something like that," said the inspector. "How do you come to know
about it?"
"I found it at the dead man's house before I discovered the body. I
left it there, but it was stolen between the time I left the house and
when I returned with Sergeant Westaway. At any rate it has not been
seen since."
"Ah," said the inspector, "there you have the motive for the murder."
"You spoke just now of young Lumsden's friend, Brett," said Crewe. "Who
is Brett?"
"He lives in Staveley--a young fellow with a little private means. He
and Lumsden were close friends--I have often seen them together about
the town. They served in the same regiment, were wounded together,
taken prisoners together by the Germans, tortured together, and escaped
together."
"Brett?" exclaimed Marsland in a tone which awakened Crewe's interest.
"I know no one named Brett."
"No, of course you wouldn't know him, Mr. Marsland," said the inspector
genially. "You have not been so long in Staveley that you can expect to
know all the residents. It's not a very large place, but it takes time
to know all the people in it."
"I was thinking of something else," said Marsland.
"What sort of man was Brett to look at?" asked Crewe of the inspector.
"About the same age as Lumsden--just under thirty, I should say. A
thin, slight, gentlemanly looking fellow. Rather a better class than
poor Lumsden. I often wondered what they had in common."
Crewe, who was watching the effect of this description on Marsland,
pressed for further particulars.
"Average height?" he asked.
"A little under," replied the inspector. "Dark complexion with a dark
moustache--what there was of it."
"I think you said he had been wounded and captured by the Germans?"
said Marsland.
"Tortured rather than wounded," replied the inspector. "The Germans
are fiends, not men. Brett and Lumsden were captured while out in a
listening patrol, and because they wouldn't give their captors any
information they were tortured. But these brave lads refused to give
the information the Germans wanted, and ultimately they succeeded in
making their escape during an attack. I've listened to many of the
experiences of our brave lads, but I don't think I've heard anything
worse than the treatment of Brett and this poor fellow who has been
murdered."
"Was it at Armentières this happened?" asked Marsland.
"I think it was," replied the inspector. "Then you've heard the story,
too, Mr. Marsland?"
"No, I was thinking of something else," he answered.
"We must look up Brett," said Crewe. "Just write down his address,
inspector--if you don't mind."
"He lives at No. 41 Whitethorn Gardens," said the police officer.
"But I don't think you will find him there to-day. His landlady, Mrs.
Penfield, promised to send me word as soon as he got back. When I heard
of this murder I went down to see Brett to find out when he had last
seen Lumsden, and to get a statement from him. But he had gone up to
London or Liverpool the day before the murder. Mrs. Penfield expects
him back early next week, but it is impossible to be certain about
his return. The fact is, Mr. Crewe, that he does some secret service
work for the Foreign Office, and naturally doesn't talk much about
his movements. He is an excellent linguist I'm told, knows French and
Russian and German--speaks these languages like a native."
"There is no hurry about seeing him," said Crewe. "I'll look him up
when he returns. In the meantime will you write down his address for
me?"
Marsland, who was nearer the inspector, took the paper on which the
police officer wrote Brett's address, and before handing it to Crewe
looked at it carefully.
"And now can you tell me anything about an old boatman who wears a
scarlet coat?" asked Crewe. "A tall old man, with a hooked nose and
white beard?"
"That's old Pedro," replied Inspector Murchison. "He's well known on
the front, although he's not been here very long, certainly not more
than twelve months. But I hope you don't think Pedro had anything to do
with the Cliff Farm murder, Mr. Crewe? We're rather proud of Pedro on
the front, he's an attraction to the place, and very popular with the
ladies."
"Marsland and I saw him in his boat at an old landing-place near
the farm a few days ago," replied Crewe. "He's a man not easily
forgotten--once seen. I'd like to find out what took him over in the
direction of Ashlingsea."
"He's often over there," said the inspector. "That is his favourite
trip for his patrons--across the bay and over to the cliff landing, as
we call it. That is the landing at the foot of the cliffs near Cliff
Farm--I daresay you noticed it, Mr. Crewe?"
"Yes. They told me at Ashlingsea that the landing-place and boat-house
belong to Cliff Farm--that they were put up by old James Lumsden."
"That is right," said the inspector. "The old man used to do a bit
of fishing--that is ten or fifteen years ago when he was an active
man, though getting on a bit--a strange thing to combine farming and
fishing, wasn't it? But he was a queer sort in many ways, was James
Lumsden."
"And where is this man with the scarlet cloak to be found when he is
not on the front?" asked Crewe. "I'd like to have a little talk with
him."
"You'll find that rather difficult," said the inspector with a laugh.
"Old Pedro is deaf and dumb."
"Has he any friends here, or does he live alone?"
"He came here with his daughter and her husband and he lives with them.
His daughter is a dwarf--a hunchback--and is supposed to be a bit of a
clairvoyant or something of that kind. The husband is English, but not
a very robust type of Englishman. They have a shop in Curzon Street off
High Street--second-hand books."
"What is his name?" asked Crewe.
"Grange."
"And it was to this man you recommended young Lumsden to go for a book
on cryptograms?"
"Yes; the same man," said the inspector. "I can tell you a queer thing
about his wife. I've said she is a bit of a clairvoyant. Well, you know
there is not much love lost between the police and clairvoyants; most
of them are shallow frauds who play on the ignorant gullible public.
But Mrs. Grange is different: she isn't in the business professionally.
And, being a broad-minded man, I am ready to admit that there may be
something in clairvoyance and spiritualism, in spite of the fact that
they are usually associated with fraud. Well, one of my men, Constable
Bell, lost a pendant from his watch-chain. It was not very valuable,
but it had a sentimental value. He had no idea where he lost it, but he
happened to mention it to Mrs. Grange--this dwarf woman--and she told
him she might be able to help him in finding it.
"She took him into a sitting-room above the shop, and after getting
his watch from him held it in her hands for a few moments. She told him
to keep perfectly still, and concentrate his mind on the article he
had lost. She closed her eyes and went into a sort of trance. Then in
a strange far-away voice she said, 'I see water--pools of water among
the rocks. I see a man and a woman walking near the rocks, arm in arm.
I see the man take the woman in his arms to kiss her, and the pendant,
caught by a button of her blouse, drops into the pool at their feet.'
That was true about the kissing. Bell when off duty visited Horseley
three miles from here, with his sweetheart, and he thought the dwarf
must have seen them and was having a joke at his expense. However, he
cycled over to Horseley when the tide was out next day, and much to his
surprise he found the pendant in the water--just as the dwarf had told
him. How do you account for a thing like that, Mr. Crewe?"
"It is very difficult to account for," said Crewe. "Does this dwarf
hold spiritualistic séances?"
"Not that I am aware of," replied the inspector. "If she does, it is in
a private capacity, and not as a business."
"Her acquaintance is worth cultivating. We will go and see her,
Marsland."
Crewe cordially thanked Inspector Murchison for the information he had
supplied, and set out with Marsland for Mr. Grange's shop in Curzon
Street.
"A good man, Murchison; he has given us a lot of information," he said
to his companion as they drove along.
"It seemed very scrappy and incomplete to me," was Marsland's reply.
"Gossipy is the right word--not scrappy. And there is nothing more
valuable than gossipy information; it enables you to fill in so many
blanks in your theory--if you have one."
"You have formed your theory of how this tragedy occurred?" said
Marsland interrogatively.
"Part of one," replied Crewe.
Marsland accepted this reply as an intimation that the detective was
not prepared to disclose his theory at that stage.
"That story about the pendant was remarkable," he said. "Do you believe
it?"
"It is not outside the range of possibility," replied Crewe. "Some
remarkable results have been achieved by psychists who possess what
they call mediumistic powers."
"Do you really think it possible that, by surrendering herself to some
occult influence, this woman was able to reproduce for herself the
scene between Constable Bell and his sweetheart, and see the pendant
drop?"
"That is the way in which psychists would explain it, but I think it
can be accounted for in a much less improbable way. I know, from my own
investigations into spiritualism and its claims, that some mediums are
capable, under favourable conditions, of reading a little of another
person's thoughts, provided the other person is sympathetic and tries
to help. But even in this limited field failure is more frequent than
success. But let us suppose that Constable Bell was an extremely
sympathetic subject on this occasion. How was this woman, after getting
Bell to concentrate his thoughts on the events of the day when he lost
the pendant, able to discover it by reading Bell's thoughts?"
"Bell's thoughts would not be of much help to her, as he did not
remember when or how he lost the pendant," said Marsland.
"The point I am aiming at is that sub-consciously Bell may have been
aware of the conditions under which he lost the pendant, and yet
not consciously aware of them. The human brain does not work as a
uniform piece of machinery; it works in sections or in compartments.
Suppose part of Bell's brain became aware that the pendant had become
detached and tried to communicate the fact to that part of Bell's
brain where he keeps toll of his personal belongings. That would be
the normal procedure, and under normal conditions a connection between
these two compartments of the brain would be established, and Bell
would stoop down and pick up the pendant. But on this occasion Bell
was intoxicating himself with kisses and had put his brain into an
excitable state. Possibly that part which keeps toll of his personal
possessions was particularly excited at the prospect of adding the lady
to the list of Bell's belongings.
"Let us assume that it was too excited to hear the small warning voice
which was crying out about the lost pendant. And when Bell's brain had
become normal the small voice had become too weak to be heard. It was
never able subsequently to establish a connection between that part of
the brain to which it belonged and that part where Bell keeps toll of
his property--perhaps it never tried again, being under the impression
that its first attempts had succeeded. And so when Bell was asked by
Mrs. Grange to concentrate his thoughts on the lost pendant he was able
to reproduce the state in which his brain was at the time, and the
medium was able to hear the warning in Bell's brain which Bell himself
had never consciously heard."
Marsland looked hard at Crewe to see whether he was speaking jestingly
or seriously, for he had been shrewd enough to discover that the
detective had a habit at times of putting forth fanciful theories the
more effectually to conceal his real thoughts. It was when Crewe talked
most that he revealed least, Marsland thought. But as Crewe's face,
as usual, did not reveal any clue to his mind, the young man murmured
something about the explanation of the pendant being interesting, but
unscientific.
"What science cannot explain, it derides," was Crewe's reply.
"Do you sympathize with the complaints of the spiritualists, that
scientists adopt an attitude of negation and derision towards
spiritualism, instead of an attitude of investigation?" continued
Marsland inquiringly.
"I think there is some truth in that complaint, though as far as I
am concerned I have not found much truth in spiritualism. However,
Mrs. Grange may be able to convince me that she uses her powers to
enlighten, and not to deceive. I am most anxious to see her."