The Bishop's Secret

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE ZEAL OF INSPECTOR TINKLER

  The strange affair of Jentham's murder continued to occupy the attentionof the Beorminster public throughout the week; and on the day when theinquest was held, popular excitement rose to fever heat. InspectorTinkler, feeling that the County expected him to do great things worthyof his reputation as a zealous officer, worked his hardest to gatherevidence likely to elucidate the mystery of the death; but in spite ofthe most strenuous exertions, his efforts resulted in total failure. Thecollected details proved to be of the most meagre description, and whenthe coroner sat on the body nothing transpired to reveal the name, oreven indicate the identity of the assassin who had provided him with abody to sit on. It really seemed as though the Southberry murder wouldend in being relegated to the list of undiscovered crimes.

  'For I can't work miracles,' explained the indignant Tinkler, whenreproached with this result, 'and somehow the case has got out of hand.The motive for the shooting can't be got at; the pistol used ain't to bepicked up, search how you may; and as for the murdering villain whofired it, if he ain't down below where he ought to be, I'll take my oathas a soldier he ain't above ground. Take it how you will, this case is acorker and no mistake.'

  It had certainly occurred to Tinkler's bothered mind that Miss Whichelloshould be called as a witness, if only to prove that at one time thedead man had occupied a better position in the world, but after a shortinterview with her he had abandoned this idea. Miss Whichello declaredthat she could throw no light on the affair, and that she had lost sightof the quondam violinist for over thirty years. Her recognition of himas Amaru had been entirely due to the description of his gipsy looksand the noticeable cicatrice on his face; and she pointed out to Tinklerthat she had not seen the so-called Jentham till after his death;moreover, it was unlikely that events which had occurred thirty yearsbefore could have resulted in the man's violent death at the presenttime; and Miss Whichello insisted that she knew nothing of thecreature's later circumstances or acquaintances. Being thus ignorant, itwas not to be expected that her evidence would be of any value, so ather earnest request Tinkler held his tongue, and forebore to summon heras a witness. Miss Whichello was greatly relieved in her own mind whenthe inspector came to this conclusion, but she did not let Tinkler seeher relief.

  From Mosk, the officer had learned that the vagabond who called himselfJentham had appeared at The Derby Winner some three weeks previous tothe time of his death. He had given no information as to where he hadlast rested, but, so far as Mosk knew, had dropped down from the sky.Certainly his conversation when he was intoxicated showed that he hadtravelled a great deal, and that his past was concerned with robbery,and bloodshed, and lawlessness; but the man had talked generally as anytraveller might, had refrained from mentioning names, and altogether hadspoken so loosely that nothing likely to lead to a tangible result couldbe gathered from his rambling discourses. He had paid his board andlodging for the first week, but thereafter had lived on credit, and atthe time of his death had owed Mosk over two pounds, principally forstrong drink. Usually he slept at The Derby Winner and loafed about thestreets all day, but at times he went over to the gipsy camp nearSouthberry and fraternised with the Romany. This was the gist of Mosk'sinformation, but he added, as an afterthought, that Jentham had promisedto pay him when certain monies which he expected came into hispossession.

  'Who was going to pay him this money?' asked Tinkler, pricking up hisears.

  'Carn't y'arsk me somethin' easier?' growled Mosk; 'how should I know?He said he was goin' to get the dibs, but who from, or where from, Idunno', for he held his tongue so far.'

  'There was no money in the pockets of the clothes worn by the body,'said Tinkler, musingly.

  'I dessay not, Mr Inspector. I don't b'lieve the cove was expecting anymoney, I don't. 'Twas all moonshine--his talk, to make me trust him forbed and grub, and a blamed fool I've bin doin' so,' grumbled Mosk.

  'The pockets were turned inside out, though.'

  'Oh, they was, was they, Mr Inspector? Well, that does look queer. Butif there was any light-fingered business to be done, I dessay themgipsies hev somethin' to do with it.'

  'Did the man go to the gipsy camp on Sunday night?'

  'Bell ses he did,' replied Mr Mosk, 'but I went over to Southberry inthe arternoon about a little 'oss as I'm sweet on, so I don't know whathe did, save by 'earsay.'

  Bell, on being questioned by the inspector, declared that Jentham hadloitered about the hotel the greater part of Sunday, but had taken hisdeparture about five o'clock. He did not say that he was going to thecamp, but as he often paid a visit to it, she presumed that he had gonethere during that evening. 'Especially as you found his corpse on thecommon, Mr Tinkler,' said Bell, 'no doubt the poor wretch was comingback from them gipsies.'

  'Humph! it's not a bad idea,' said Tinkler, scratching his well-shavenchin. 'Strikes me as I'll go and look up Mother Jael.'

  The result of an interview with that iniquitous old beldame proved thatJentham had certainly been the guest of the gipsies on Sunday eveningbut had returned to Beorminster shortly after nine o'clock. He hadstated that he was going back to The Derby Winner, and as it was hiscustom to come and go when he pleased, the Romany had not taken muchnotice of his departure. A vagrant like Jentham was quite independent oftime.

  'He was one of your lot, I suppose?' said Mr Inspector, taking a fewnotes in his pocket-book--a secretive little article which shut with apatent clasp.

  'Yes, dearie, yes! Lord bless 'ee,' mumbled Mother Jael, blinking hercunning eyes, 'he was one of the gentle Romany sure enough.'

  'Was he with you long, granny?'

  'Three week, lovey, jus' three week. He cum to Beorminster and gotweary like of you Gentiles, so he made hisself comforbal with us.'

  'Blackguards to blackguards, and birds of a feather' murmured Tinkler;then asked if Jentham had told Mother Jael anything about himself.

  'He!' screeched the old hag, 'he niver tol' me a word. He cum an' hego'd; but he kep his red rag to himself, he did. Duvel! he was a cunningone that Jentham.'

  'Was his name Jentham, mother; or was it something else?'

  'He called hisself so, dearie, but I niver knowed one of that gentleRomany as had a Gentile name. We sticks to our own mos'ly. Job! I shudthink so.'

  'Are you sure he was a gipsy?'

  'Course I am, my noble Gorgio! He could patter the calo jib with thebest of 'um. He know'd lots wot the Gentiles don' know, an' he had theeagle beak an' the peaked eye. Oh, tiny Jesus was a Romany chal, or mayI die for it!'

  'Do you know who killed him?' asked Tinkler, abruptly.

  'No, lovey. 'Tweren't one of us, tho' you puts allays the wust on ourbacks. Job! dog do niver eat dog, as I knows, dearie.'

  'He left your camp at nine o'clock?'

  'Thereabouts, my lamb; jes' arter nine!'

  'Was he sober or drunk?'

  'Betwix' an' between, lovey; he cud walk straight an' talk straight, an'look arter his blessed life.'

  'Humph! seems as though he couldn't,' said Mr Inspector, dryly.

  'Duvel! that's a true sayin',' said Mother Jael, with a nod, 'but I don'know wot cum to him, dearie.'

  At the inquest Mother Jael was called as a witness, and told the jurymuch the same story as she had related to Tinkler, with further detailsas to the movements of the gipsies on that night. She declared that noneof the tribe had left the camp; that Jentham had gone away alone,comparatively sober; and that she did not hear of his murder until latethe next day. In spite of examination and cross-examination, Mother Jaelcould give no evidence as to Jentham's real name, or about his past, orwhy he was lingering at Beorminster. 'He cum'd an' he go'd,' saidMother Jael, with the air of an oracle, and that was the extent of herinformation, delivered in a croaking, shuffling, unconvincing manner.

  The carter, Giles Crake, who had found the body, was a stupid yokelwhose knowledge was entirely limited to his immediate surroundings.Perched on his cart, he had seen the bo
dy lying in a ditch half full ofwater, on the other side of an earthen mound, which extended along theside of the main road. The spot where he discovered it, was nearBeorminster, and about five miles from the gipsy camp. The man had beenshot through the heart; his pockets had been emptied and turned insideout; and evidently after the murder the robber had dragged the body overthe mound into the ditch. Giles had not touched the corpse, beingfearful of getting into trouble, but had come on at once to Beorminsterto inform the police of his discovery.

  It was Dr Graham who had examined the body when first discovered, andaccording to his evidence the man had been shot through the heartshortly before ten o'clock on Sunday night. The pistol had been fired soclose that the clothing of the deceased over the heart was scorched andblackened with the powder of the cartridge. 'And from this fact,' addedGraham, with one of his shrewd glances, 'I gather that the murderer musthave been known to Jentham!'

  'How is that, doctor?' asked one of the jury.

  'Because he must have held him in talk while contemplating the crime,sir. The murderer and his victim must almost have been breast to breast,and while the attention of the latter was distracted in some way, theassassin must have shot him at close quarters.'

  'This is all theory, Dr Graham,' said the coroner, who was a rivalpractitioner.

  'It seems to me that the whole case rests on theory,' retorted Graham,and shrugged his shoulders.

  Before the evidence concerning the matter closed, Inspector Tinklerexplained how difficult it had been to collect even the few detailswhich the jury had heard. He stated also that although the strictestsearch had been made in the vicinity of the crime, the weapon with whichit had been committed could not be found. As the shooting had been doneduring a downfall of rain, the assassin's and his victim's footmarkswere visible in the soft clay of the roadway; also there were the marksof horses' hoofs, so it was probable that the murderer had been mounted.If this were so, neither gipsies nor harvesters could have killed thewretched man, as neither the one lot nor the other possessed horsesand--'

  'The gipsies have horses to draw their caravans!' interrupted asharp-looking juryman.

  'To draw their caravans I admit,' said the undaunted Tinkler, 'but notto ride on. Besides, I would remind you, Mr Jobson, as Mother Jaeldeclares, that none of her crowd left the camp on that night.'

  'Oh, she'd declare anything,' muttered Jobson, who had no great opinionof Tinkler's brains. 'Have the footmarks in the road been measured?'

  'No, they haven't, Mr Jobson!'

  'Then they should have, Mr Inspector; you can tell a lot from afootmark, as I've heard. It's what the French call the Bertillon systemof identification, that's what it is.'

  'I don't need to go to France to learn my business,' said Tinkler,tartly, 'and if I did get the measurements of them footmarks, how am Ito know which is which--Jentham's or his murderer's? and how can I goround the whole of Beorminster to see whose feet fit 'em? I ask youthat, Mr Jobson, sir.'

  At this point, judging that the discussion had gone far enough, thecoroner intervened and said that Mr Inspector had done his best tounravel a very difficult case. That he had not succeeded was the faultof the case and not of Mr Inspector, and for his part, he thought thatthe thanks of the Beorminster citizens were due to the efforts of sozealous and intelligent an officer as Tinkler. This sapient speechreduced the recalcitrant Jobson to silence, but he still held to hisopinion that the over-confident Tinkler had bungled the matter, and inthis view he was silently but heartily supported by shrewd Dr Graham,who privately considered that Mr Inspector Tinkler was little betterthan an ass. However, he did not give vent to this offensive opinion.

  The summing-up of the coroner called for little remark. He was a worthycountry doctor, with as much brains as would cover a sixpence, and thecase was beyond him in every way. His remarks to the jury--equallystupid, with the exception of Jobson--were to the effect that it wasevidently impossible to find out who had killed Jentham, that the manwas a quarrelsome vagabond who probably had many enemies; that no doubtwhile crossing the common in a drunken humour he had met with someone asbad as himself, and had come to high words with him; and that theunknown man, being armed, had no doubt shot the deceased in a fit ofrage. 'He robbed the body, I daresay, gentlemen,' concluded the coroner,'and then threw it into the ditch to conceal the evidence of his crime.As we don't know the man, and are never likely to know him, I can onlysuggest that you should find a verdict in accordance with the evidencesupplied to you by the zeal of Inspector Tinkler. Man has done all hecan to find out this Cain, but his efforts have been vain, so we mustleave the punishment of the murderer to God; and as Holy Scripture saysthat "murder will out," I have no doubt that some day the criminal willbe brought to justice.'

  After this wise speech it was not surprising that the jury brought in averdict, 'That the deceased Jentham met with a violent death at thehands of some person or persons unknown,' that being the kind of verdictwhich juries without brains--as in the present instance--generally give.Having thus settled the matter to their own bovine satisfaction, thejury went away after having been thanked for their zeal by the coroner.That gentleman was great on zeal.

  'Hum! Hum! Hum!' said Dr Graham to himself, 'there's too much zealaltogether. I wonder what M. de Talleyrand would have thought of thesecabbages and their zeal. Well, Mr Inspector,' he added aloud, 'so you'vefinished off the matter nicely.'

  'We have done our best, Dr Graham, sir.'

  'And you don't know who killed the man?'

  'No, sir, I don't; and what's more, I don't believe anybody ever willknow.'

  'Humph, that's your opinion, is it? Do you read much, Mr Inspector?'

  'A novel at times, sir. I'm fond of a good novel.'

  'Then let me recommend to your attention the works of a French author,by name Gaboriau. There's a man in them called Lecoq, who would havefound out the truth, Mr Inspector.'

  'Fiction, Dr Graham, sir! Fiction.'

  'True enough, Mr Inspector, but most fiction is founded on fact.'

  'Well, sir,' said Tinkler, with a superior wise smile, 'I should like tosee our case in the hands of your Mr Lecoq.'

  'So should I, Mr Inspector, or in the hands of Sherlock Holmes. Blessme, Tinkler, they'd do almost as much as you have done. It is a pitythat you are not a character in fiction, Tinkler.'

  'Why, sir? Why, may I ask?'

  'Because your author might have touched you up in weak parts, and havegifted you with some brains. Good-day, Mr Inspector.'

  While Graham walked away chuckling at his banter of this red-tapeofficial, the official himself stood gasping like a fish out of thewater, and trying to realise the insult levelled at his dignity.Jobson--a small man--sidled round to the front of him and made a commenton the situation.

  'It all comes of your not measuring them footmarks,' said Jobson. 'Indetective novels the clever fellows always do that, but you'd never beput into a book, not you!'

  'You'll be put into jail,' cried the outraged inspector.

  'It's more than Jentham's murderer will if you've got the catching ofhim,' said Jobson, and walked off.