RONALD THOYNE DISAPPEARS
THE next move in this very curious game was made by Pepster who called on
me a few days after my interview with Ronald Thoyne.
“I have a warrant for Tulmin’s arrest,” he announced.
“Yes,” I said, “I am not surprised. I could see you were edging that
way.”
“It’s the right way. Tulmin has disappeared.”
“Has he? That is interesting at least.”
“Yes, he went from White Towers to Lennsdale—that is Mr. Thoyne’s house,
you know. Thoyne engaged him the day after the inquest and he went at
once. And now he has gone altogether.”
“Engaged him as what?”
“Same as Clevedon—valet, and so on.”
“How do you know?”
“I put someone on to watch him of course. I wasn’t going to let him slip
away. But he has managed it, at least so my man reports and he must be a
damned fool, as I told him. He hasn’t been seen for two days.”
“Your man hasn’t?”
“No, I mean Tulmin.”
“Thoyne should know where he is.”
“He says he doesn’t but I haven’t seen him myself. I am going up to
Lennsdale now to question him. Would you care to come?”
At first I thought not, and then I altered my mind. After all, Thoyne
really was right in the thick of it.
When we reached Thoyne’s house Pepster took the lead and rang lustily at
the bell, which was one of the old-fashioned type with a long, hanging
handle of cast-iron. He had to ring three times before he obtained any
response and then the door was slowly opened to disclose a very old,
white-headed man standing blinking at us with watery eyes. To Pepster’s
question as to whether Mr. Thoyne was at home he only shook his head, but
whether in negative reply or merely in stupidity we could not quite make
out. The old man’s face at all events was devoid of expression.
“Do you mean he is not at home?” I demanded sharply.
“We will see for ourselves,” Pepster said, pushing past the old man into
the hall. “Now, then, who else is in the house, and be careful what you
say or we may be taking you with us.”
Pepster was very angry that Tulmin had slipped through his fingers and
apparently regarded the old man as an ally of the enemy.
“Taking me with you!” the old fellow cried, in the quavering accents of
age. “Taking me where?”
“To prison, old chap,” Pepster replied cheerfully. “People who won’t
answer questions often find themselves in gaol.”
It was pure bluff and Pepster’s superiors would probably have had
something rather drastic to say had they overheard it. But the detective
knew pretty well how far to go, and with whom it was safe to go even that
distance.
“But, dear sir, I have done nothing wrong,” the old man said, manifesting
a sudden fluency which caused Pepster to turn on him with a sharp glance.
“I am a very old man, gentlemen, seventy-seven, and I have never been in
any trouble of that sort, never, gentlemen.”
“You are making for it now,” Pepster rejoined dryly.
“But, gentlemen, I—”
“Look here,” Pepster said, “we asked you a question—where’s Thoyne? If
you mean to answer that, get going, and quick. If you don’t mean to
answer it, don’t talk at all.”
“But, sir, I—”
“Where’s Mr. Thoyne?”
“But, gentlemen, if you would—”
“Where’s Mr. Thoyne?”
“He—I don’t know.”
“Is he in the house?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I don’t know who Mr. Thoyne is, I—I never heard of him.”
“You are in his house.”
“Yes”
“Where are the other people—the servants—the housekeeper—?”
“There is nobody here but me, gentlemen, truly there is nobody here. I
am alone in the house, me, Silas Ballaker, seventy-seven—”
“How long have you been in this house?”
“Not long—I came to-day—”
“Came to-day—what do you mean, you came to-day?”
“Sir, I am Silas Ballaker and—”
“Yes, you said that before, and you are seventy-seven years of age.
Neither statement interests us. We want Mr. Thoyne.”
“Hallo! hallo!” cried suddenly a new voice. “Silas, who are these
gentlemen? Ha! Mr. Pepster, I did not recognise you. Have you come to
take my house?”
“No, Mr. Bannister,” Pepster replied slowly. “I haven’t come to take any
house.”
He paused, a little irresolute, knowing that Mr. Bannister was a
different proposition from old Silas Ballaker and that he would have to
be a little more careful.
“May I ask what you are doing here?” Pepster went on.
“Now is that a kindly personal inquiry from a friend or is it asked in an
official capacity?”
Mr. Bannister was a little fat man, with two small, keen eyes peering out
of a sallow, bearded face.
“Oh, purely personal,” Pepster replied, a little impatiently. “We came
to see Mr. Thoyne. I was merely surprised to see you where we
expected—someone else.”
“Oh, Thoyne, yes, he was my tenant. But he has gone. Gave me notice
some days ago, paid me up and cleared out. A good tenant, very good. I
was sorry to lose him—yes. He said he was going back to America and he
left this morning. I sent old Silas here as caretaker. Good old chap,
Silas, but—”
He tapped his head significantly with the forefinger of his right hand.
The old man did not see the movement but he caught the words.
“They have come to take me to prison,” he said mournfully.
“To prison!” cried Mr. Bannister. “Nonsense! What for? What have you
been doing, old Silas?”
“I haven’t been doing nothing,” Silas quavered. “But this stout
gentleman seemed mortally offended and—”
“Oh, we’ll see, we’ll see,” Mr. Bannister said. “Now, Mr. Pepster, what
does all this mean?”
“We want to see Mr. Thoyne and—”
“He isn’t here.”
“Well, we should like to look through the house—”
“Yes, yes, and no doubt you have a search warrant?”
“I have no search warrant,” Pepster said patiently. “I am asking your
permission.”
“No, no, let’s do everything in order. No warrant, no search. An
Englishman’s house, et cetera, you know. Can’t be done, Mr. Pepster,
can’t be done. Think what would happen if the papers got hold of it.
High-handed action by a Peakborough detective—eh?”
“The papers will not get hold of it if you don’t tell them,” Pepster said
quietly.
“Oh, one never knows. How do these fellows get hold of things? It’s
wonderful, but, you know, it’s their job. And your Chief is just a bit
nervous, isn’t he?”
“I could get a warrant in an hour,” Pepster said.
“Well, why not? The house won’t disappear in an hour. It will still be
here and so will old Silas. But if it’s Thoyne you want, a warrant’ll
not help you. He isn’t here.”
“His furniture is,” I interposed.
“No,” Mr. Bannister replied, with an oily smile, “you are wrong there
also. The furniture’s mine. I let it furnished.”
“Did you see Mr. Thoyne go?” I asked.
“Yes, I was here. He handed me the key.”
“Had he a man named Tulmin with him?”
“He had a servant, a little man, but I don’t know what his name was.”
“They have gone away together,” Pepster said, turning to me. “Come
along, there’s nothing more to do here!”
“If you want to go through the house—” Mr. Bannister began.
“We don’t,” Pepster rejoined promptly. “We’ll take your refusal and if
anything occurs we’ll call you as a witness.”
“But—”
“Is Thoyne in the house?”
“He isn’t.”
“Then good day to you.”
We turned away and though Mr. Bannister did not quite seem to like it, he
made no effort to detain us.
“Yes, they’ve gone away together,” Pepster repeated, as we strolled
towards Stone Hollow. “Why has Thoyne taken Tulmin out of the way?”
“It may be only a coincidence,” I observed.
“It would be a curious coincidence,” Pepster remarked. “Not that I rule
coincidences out myself. They happen. I have run up against some very
queer instances in my time. I once had a case in which a man prepared a
dose of poison for another man. The latter died of poison and the other
gave himself up to justice. A clear case—but when the post-mortem took
place it was found that the victim had died of quite another sort of
poison altogether. He had, in fact, committed suicide and had never
taken the dose prepared for him by the would-be murderer!”
“But if this isn’t a coincidence, then there must be an explanation,” I
said. “How would this do? Ronald Thoyne quarrels with Sir Philip
Clevedon over Miss—over a woman. Then Thoyne pays Tulmin to assassinate
Sir Philip. That is why Thoyne took the man into his service so
promptly. But they find the chase getting too hot for them and so they
clear out. What?”
“Is that the story?” Pepster demanded, evidently impressed.
“No,” I replied, “I am quite sure it isn’t. But it would fit the facts
up to date, wouldn’t it?”
“I shall go after Tulmin, anyway,” Pepster rejoined.
I nodded smilingly, but did not further discuss the matter though I
divined Thoyne’s move. He had taken Tulmin away in order to divert
suspicion from young Clevedon. How far Thoyne had taken Tulmin into his
confidence I did not know. Perhaps he had bluffed him as he had tried to
bluff me. And at all events he would have paid him well. Whatever
faults Thoyne may have possessed any form of parsimony was certainly not
one of them.