THE TRAVELLING TINKER
Neale's eye caught the gleam of silver braid on the clothing of one of
the two men, and he hastened his steps a little as he and Betty emerged
on the level ground at the top of the steep path.
"That's a policeman," he said. "It'll be the constable from Ellersdeane.
The other man looks like a gamekeeper. Let's see if they've heard
anything."
The two figures turned at the sound of footsteps, and came slowly in
Neale's direction. Both recognized him and touched their hats.
"I suppose you're looking round in search of anything about Mr.
Horbury?" suggested Neale. "Heard any news or found any trace?"
"Well, we're what you might call taking a preliminary observation, Mr.
Neale," answered the policeman. "His lordship's sent men out all over
the neighbourhood. No, we've heard nothing, nor seen anything, either.
But, then, there's not much chance of hearing anything hereabouts. The
others have gone round asking at houses, and such-like--to find out if
he was seen to pass anywhere. Of course, his lordship was figuring on
the chance that Mr. Horbury might have had a fit, or something of that
sort, and fallen somewhere along this path, between the town and
Ellersdeane House--it's not much followed, this path. But we've seen
nothing--up to now."
Neale turned to the keeper.
"Were none of your people about here on Saturday night?" he asked.
"You've a good many watchers on the estate, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir--a dozen or more," answered the keeper. "But we don't come
this way--this isn't our land. Our beats lie the other way--t'other side
of the village. We never come on to this part at all."
"This, you know, Mr. Neale," remarked the policeman, jerking his thumb
over the Hollow, "this, in a manner of speaking, belongs to nobody. Some
say it belongs to the Crown--I don't know. All I know is that nobody has
any rights over it--it's been what you might term common land ever since
anybody can remember. This here Mr. Horbury that's missing--your
governor, sir--I once met him out here, and had a bit of talk with him,
and he told me that it isn't even known who worked them old lead-mines
down there, nor who has any rights over all this waste. That, of
course," concluded the policeman, pointing to the glowing fire which
Neale and Betty had seen from the edge of the wood, "that's why chaps
like yonder man come and camp here just as they like--there's nobody to
stop 'em."
"Who is the man?" asked Neale, glancing at the fire, whose flames made a
red spot amongst the bushes.
"Most likely a travelling tinker chap, sir, that comes this way now and
again," answered the policeman. "Name of Creasy--Tinner Creasy, the
folks call him. He's come here for many a year, at odd times. Camps out
with his pony and cart, and goes round the villages and farmsteads,
seeing if there's aught to mend, and selling 'em pots and pans and
such-like. Stops a week or two--sometimes longer."
"And poaches all he can lay hands on," added the gamekeeper. "Only he
takes good care never to go off this Hollow to do it."
"Have you made any inquiry of him?" asked Neale.
"We were just thinking of doing that, sir," replied the policeman. "He
roams up and down about here at nights, when he is here. But I don't
know how long he's been camping this time--it's very seldom I ever come
round this way myself--there's naught to come for."
"Let's go across there and speak to him," said Neale.
He and Betty followed the two men down the side of the promontory and
across the ups and downs of the Hollow, until they came to a deeper
depression fringed about by a natural palisading of hawthorn. And as
they drew near and could see into the dingle-like recess which the
tinker had selected for his camping-ground they became aware of a
savoury and appetizing odour, and the gamekeeper laughed.
"Cooking his supper, is Tinner Creasy!" he remarked. "And good stuff he
has in his pot, too!"
The tinker, now in full view, sat on a log near a tripod, beneath which
crackled a bright fire, burning under a black pot. The leaping flames
revealed a shrewd, weather-beaten face which turned sharply towards the
bushes as the visitors appeared; they also lighted up the tinker's cart
in the background, the browsing pony close by, the implements of the
tinner's trade strewn around on the grass. It was an alluring picture of
vagabond life, and Neale suddenly compared it with the dull existence of
folk who, like himself, were chained to a desk. He would have liked to
sit down by Tinner Creasy and ask him about his doings--but the
policeman had less poetical ideas.
"Hullo, Tinner!" said he, with easy familiarity. "Here again, what? I
thought we should be seeing your fire some night this spring. Been here
long?"
The tinker, who had remained seated on his log until he saw that a lady
was of the party, rose and touched the edge of his fur cap to Betty in a
way which indicated that his politeness was entirely for her.
"Since yesterday," he answered laconically.
"Only since yesterday!" exclaimed the policeman. "Ah! that's a pity,
now. You wasn't here Saturday night, then?"
The tinker turned a quizzical eye on the four inquiring faces.
"How would I be here Saturday night when I only came yesterday?" he
retorted. "You're the sort of chap that wants two answers to one
question! What about Saturday night?"
The policeman took off his helmet and rubbed the top of his head as if
to encourage his faculties.
"Nay!" he said. "There's a gentleman missing from Scarnham yonder, and
it's thought he came out this way after dark, Saturday night, and
something happened. But, of course, if you wasn't in these parts
then----"
"I wasn't, nor within ten miles of 'em," said Creasy. "Who is the
gentleman?"
"Mr. Horbury, the bank manager," answered the policeman.
"I know Mr. Horbury," remarked Creasy, with a glance at Neale and Betty.
"I've talked to him a hundred-and-one times on this waste. So it's him,
is it? Well, there's one thing you can be certain about."
"What?" asked Betty eagerly.
"Mr. Horbury wouldn't happen aught by accident, hereabouts," answered
the tinker significantly. "He knew every inch of this Hollow. Some
folks, now, might take a header into one o' them old lead-mines. He
wouldn't. He could ha' gone blind-fold over this spot."
"Well--he's disappeared," observed the policeman. "There's a search
being made, all round. You heard naught last night, I suppose?"
Creasy gave Neale and Betty a look.
"Heard plenty of owls, and night-jars, and such-like," he answered, "and
foxes, and weasels, and stoats, and beetles creeping in the grass.
Naught human!"
The policeman resumed his helmet and sniffed audibly. He and the keeper
moved away and talked together. Then the policeman turned to Neale.
"Well, we'll be getting back to the village, sir," he said. "If so be as
you see our super, Mr. Neale, you might mention that we're out and
about."
He and his companion went off by a different path; at the top of a rise
in the ground the policeman turned again.
"Tinner!" he called.
"Hullo?" answered Creasy.
"If you should hear or find aught," said the policeman, "come to me, you
know."
"All right!" assented Creasy. He picked up some wood and replenished his
fire. And glancing at Neale and Betty, who still lingered, he let fall a
muttered whisper under his breath. "Bide a bit--till those chaps have
gone," he said. "I've a word or two."
He walked away to his cart after this mysterious communication, dived
under its tilt, evidently felt for and found something, and came back,
glancing over his shoulder to see that keeper and policeman had gone
their ways.
"I never tell chaps of that sort anything, mister," he said, giving
Neale a sly wink. "Them of my turn of life look on all gamekeepers and
policemen as their natural enemies. They'd both of 'em turn me out o'
this if they could!--only they know they can't. For some reason or other
Ellersdeane Hollow is No Man's Land--and therefore mine. And so--I
wasn't going to say anything to them--not me!"
"Then there is something you can say?" said Neale.
"You were here on Saturday!" exclaimed Betty. "You know something!"
"No, miss, I wasn't here Saturday," answered the tinker, "and I don't
know anything--about what yon man asked, anyway--I told him the truth
about all that. But--you say Mr. Horbury's missing, and that he's
considered to have come this way on Saturday night. So--do either of you
know that?"
He drew his right hand from behind him, and in the glare of the
firelight showed them, lying across its palm, a briar tobacco-pipe,
silver-mounted.
"I found that, last night, gathering dry sticks," he said. "It's letters
engraved on the silver band--'J. H. from B. F.' 'J. H.' now?--does that
mean John Horbury?--you see, I know his Christian name."
Betty uttered a sharp exclamation and took the pipe in her hand. She
turned to Neale with a look of sudden fear.
"It's the pipe I gave my uncle last Christmas!" she said. "Of course I
know it! Where did you find it?" she went on, turning on Creasy. "Do
tell us--do show us!"
"Foot of the crag there, miss--right beneath the old tower," answered
Creasy. "And it's just as I found it. I'll give it to you, sir, to take
to Superintendent Polke in Scarnham--he knows me. But just let me point
something out. I ain't a detective, but in my eight-and-forty years I've
had to keep my wits sharpened and my eyes open. Point out to Polke, and
notice yourself--that whenever that pipe was dropped it was being
smoked! The tobacco's caked at the surface--just as it would be if the
pipe had been laid down at the very time the tobacco was burning
well--if you're a smoker you'll know what I mean. That's one thing. The
other is--just observe that the silver band is quite bright and fresh,
and that there are no stains on the briar-wood. What's that indicate,
young lady and young gentleman? Why, that that pipe hadn't been lying so
very long when I found it! Not above a day, I'll warrant."
"That's very clever of you, very observant!" exclaimed Betty.
"But--won't you show us the exact place where you picked it up?"
Creasy cast a glance at his cooking pot, stepped to it, and slightly
tilted the lid. Then he signed to them to go back towards the tower by
the path by which they had come.
"Don't want my supper to boil over, or to burn," he remarked. "It's the
only decent meal I get in the day, you see, miss. But it won't take a
minute to show you where I found the pipe. Now--what's the idea, sir,"
he went on, turning to Neale, "about Mr. Horbury's disappearance? Is it
known that he came out here Saturday night?"
"Not definitely," replied Neale. "But it's believed he did. He was seen
to set off in this direction, and there's a probability that he crossed
over here on his way to Ellersdeane. But he's never been seen since he
left Scarnham."
"Well," observed Creasy, "as I said just now, he wouldn't happen
anything by accident in an ordinary way. Was there any reason why
anybody should set on him?"
"There may have been," replied Neal.
"He wouldn't be likely to have aught valuable on him, surely--that time
o' night?" said the tinker.
"He may have had," admitted Neale. "I can't tell you more."
Creasy asked no farther question. He led the way to the foot of the
promontory, at a point where a mass of rock rose sheer out of the hollow
to the plateau crowned by the ruinous tower.
"Here's where I picked up the pipe," he said. "Lying amongst this
rubbish--stones and dry wood, you see--I just caught the gleam of the
silver band. Now what should Mr. Horbury be doing down here? The path,
you see, is a good thirty yards off. But--he may have fallen over--or
been thrown over--and it's a sixty-feet drop from top to bottom."
Neale and Betty looked up the face of the rocks and said nothing. And
Creasy presently went on, speaking in a low voice:--
"If he met with foul play--if, for instance, he was thrown over here in
a struggle--or if, taking a look from the top there, he got too near the
edge and something gave way," he said, "there's about as good means of
getting rid of a dead man in this Ellersdeane Hollow as in any place in
England! That's a fact!"
"You mean the lead-mines?" murmured Neale.
"Right, sir! Do you know how many of these old workings there is?"
asked Creasy. "There's between fifty and sixty within a square mile of
this tower. Some's fenced in--most isn't. Some of their mouths are grown
over with bramble and bracken. And all of 'em are of tremendous depth. A
man could be thrown down one of those mines, sir, and it 'ud be a long
job finding his body! But all that's very frightening to the lady, and
we'll hope nothing of it happened. Still----"
"It has to be faced," said Betty. "Listen--I am Mr. Horbury's niece, and
I'm offering a reward for news of him. Will you keep your eyes and ears
open while you're in this neighbourhood?"
The tinker promised that he would do his best, and presently he went
back to his fire, while Neale and Betty turned away towards the town.
Neither spoke until they were half-way through the wood; then Betty
uttered her fears in a question.
"Do you think the finding of that pipe shows he was--there?" she asked.
"I'm sure of it," replied Neale. "I wish I wasn't. But--I saw him with
this pipe in his lips at two o'clock on Saturday! I recognized it at
once."
"Let's hurry on and see the police," said Betty. "We know something now,
at any rate."
Polke, they were told at the police-station, was in his private house
close by: a polite constable conducted them thither. And presently they
were shown into the superintendent's dining-room, where Polke,
hospitably intent, was mixing a drink for a stranger. The stranger,
evidently just in from a journey, rose and bowed, and Polke waved his
hand at him with a smile, as he looked at the two young people.
"Here's your man, miss!" said Polke cheerily. "Allow
me--Detective-Sergeant Starmidge, of the Criminal Investigation
Department."