He broke off, and Macdonald sat silent.
“I dived down by the bank,” said Vintner, and then seemed unable to go on. “Well – you know. I climbed out, and then, just as I’d got my vest on, I realized there was someone else there and I thought of Shand.”
“How did you know there was someone else there?”
“Because of the bullocks, I couldn’t hear anything, but the beasts had turned facing the wind and were standing with their noses up. I knew they’d scented somebody – so I just ran. I can’t tell you why, but I ran for the woods. . . it was dark under the trees. Then Hoggett came after me. Of course I knew it wasn’t Shand running: I didn’t know who it was, but it seemed like an avenging fury – he can run like hell, can’t he? I was glad when he caught me. I’m not afraid of Hoggett; he’s a good chap.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him there and then what you must have known to be true? You touched that sack–”
“Yes, I touched it. . . If it’d been you, you might have told, but not me. You’d have thought – what you’re thinking now.”
Vintner shivered and then burst out in a tumult of words:
“How could I tell? I’m a gaol bird, a man who’s been quodded for fraud. How could I say, ‘There’s a corpse in a sack under the bank, chaps. I don’t know how it got there. I was just having a swim and I found it by chance.’ Just having a swim at midnight, with a frost over the grass and the water as cold as the Arctic. . . Oh, yes, likely. I know by experience everybody always believes the worst of me. . . If it’d been Hoggett by himself I might have told him, but not two of you. Not you. I thought you were a lawyer, you look like one, and I’ve always hated lawyers.”
“You’d have had a better chance of being believed if you’d told us then and there,” said Macdonald. “Here’s another question for you to answer: why did you take an empty cigarette tin from Hoggett’s cottage last night?”
“Cigarette tin?” Vintner stared. “What does that matter? I believe I did pick up an old tin, I wanted one to keep my own cigarettes in – when I’ve got any. Everything gets damp here if you don’t keep it in tins. Look in that cupboard. If I keep a pair of shoes in there for a week it goes mouldy.”
“How did you happen on this place? Had you been here before?”
“Not here exactly. I stayed at Chapelton-Lonsdale years ago. An old uncle of mine came and looked me up after I came out of quod. He offered me £500 to try and settle down and make a living, a decent old boy. It was he who suggested poultry. I jumped at it. Seemed to me I could start again somewhere where nobody knew me. The old boy paid for me to spend a few months with a poultry farmer to learn the ropes, and told me to look out for some place which was fairly cheap. I came up to Lonsdale and fossicked around until I found this place. Of course I ought to have realized there was something wrong about it. It’d never have been empty if the land was any good – but I didn’t think of that. It was cheap, so I took it and bought some old hen-houses and some stock and thought I was going to get on a treat – but you see.
“Yes, I see.” Macdonald encouraged Vintner to go on talking, because he wanted to get to know him. “Did it occur to you to disinfect the old hen-houses?” he asked.
Vintner shrugged his shoulders.
“Not until the hens started dying. Then I remembered. . . I suppose I bought the diseases with the hen-houses. Damn.”
“Can’t you market those paintings? They’re good.”
“You try it. It’s not so easy. They fall between two stools. They’re not bad enough to sell easily for pretty-pretties and not good enough to get on the line in the big shows.”
He got up and stood before the painting on the easel.
“If you like it, will you take it?” he asked. “I’d be glad to think someone liked it. I suppose you’re going to run me in?”
“No. I’m not going to run you in. I’ve no evidence that you’ve done anything against the law, though I tell you frankly you made a mistake in not telling what you must have realized last night when you touched that sack. Also I warn you not to try to bolt. You’ve got to stop here.”
“I shouldn’t get very far, should I? You can’t bolt without any money.”
Macdonald looked at the man’s tallowy face – it was almost green as he faced the cold northern light.
“When did you have a meal last?”
Vintner stared back at the C.I.D. man.
“God knows when I had a real meal. I can’t remember I got some bread and cheese in Carnton just now, and some tea. I did a deal with a chap at some dirty pub. I sold him my petrol lighter and he let me have some food. The bother is that I haven’t any matches now.”
Macdonald turned to the kitchen door.
“You’d better light that fire and make some tea. Perhaps it’ll restore your wits. You need something.”
It was Macdonald who got the range lighted. There was plenty of wood and the kettle boiled quickly over the crackling sticks. Anthony Vintner just stared. Macdonald knew that stare: the man was half-starved: on top of that he had had a shock which had knocked him edgeways. Macdonald doubted very much if Vintner were quite as much the injured innocent as he made out, but he was obviously in need of a meal and of a chance to pull himself together. Macdonald looked around for a receptacle in which to put the tins and broken crocks: he saw an empty sack – and decided against it. He then found a large zinc basin and piled the debris into it, while Vintner still sat with a puzzled stare.
“Here you are – take these and dump them wherever you have a dump,” said the C.I.D. man, and Vintner obeyed like a child. When he came back the kitchen table at least was cleared.
“I wish to God I was neat and handy like you,” said Vintner, and Macdonald replied:
“I don’t know what’s the masculine of slut, unless it’s Vintner. No man needs to make a pigsty of a decent kitchen. Have you another teapot – or not?”
Bemusedly the painter opened a cupboard and found some more crocks – very much crocks, and washed them at the sink as he was bidden. Macdonald found the tea, made it in the cracked pot, and cut the loaf.
“Sit down and eat a meal and try to behave as though you’d got some wits,” he said, and Anthony Vintner sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat like a starving man. Macdonald poured himself out some tea, lighted his pipe and sat by the fire, pondering deeply. At last he turned to Vintner.
“Now you can answer some more questions – and the more truthfully you answer, the better for you,” he said.
They went on talking until dusk softened the mullioned windows: question and answer, question and answer. After a pause, Macdonald turned and looked hard at Anthony Vintner’s pallid face. His eyes ware shut, and he was fast asleep, slumped down on the kitchen chair. The man was so exhausted he had fallen asleep almost, as he talked.
Macdonald saw to it that the range was shut down, and then he went outside, closed the door firmly, and then drove Belinda and the donkey into the old pasture and tied up the ancient bed-end that did duty as a gate.
Macdonald was not quite sure what to make of Anthony Vintner, but he didn’t like the idea of the goat and the donkey finishing the remains of the bread and cheese on the kitchen table.
Just as he was trying to secure the drunken gate Macdonald saw a car approaching along the lonely road – a good, opulent-looking, well-cared-for car. It slowed down and pulled up just ahead of Giles Hoggett’s less prosperous-looking vehicle, and Macdonald recognized the driver with a feeling of amusement. It was Mr. Barton Shand, who had wanted to instruct Mr. Hoggett about the value of old books in Wenningby Barns. Macdonald quickly schooled his expression to one of official gravity. He and Giles Hoggett had been free to indulge in flippancy last night – but it seemed rather a long time ago.
Mr. Shand got out of his car and walked back toward the chief inspector with a frowning, troubled face.
“Good day. Am I right in believing that I speak to an official of the Criminal Investigation Departmen
t?”
“Yes, sir. My name is Macdonald, and I am here on duty. Last evening, when I saw you in Mr. Hoggett’s cottage I was off duty, so far as official proceedings were concerned.”
“We need not discuss that, Chief Inspector,” rejoined the other tartly, “though I should like to make it clear that what I said then was not spoken in jest. I gather that the police now have reasons for a serious investigation in this valley.”
“That is quite true, sir,” rejoined Macdonald, “though I should be interested to know how you came by that information.”
“It seems not improbable to me that the whole of Lunesdale is aware of it,” retorted Mr. Shand. “The police van on the Caton road and the presence of police officers and the nature of their burden this morning was plain enough for all to see.”
“Forgive me if I challenge that statement, sir. Some care was taken to avoid undue obviousness, if I may put it that way. I know that you, for instance, were not on the Caton road this morning, and I ask you again how you came by your information.”
“If you used your eyes, Inspector, you would have noticed that that stretch of road, river, and land can be observed from the fells on the south side of the river. I own some land on that side, and during my brief holidays here I take a gun with me for some rough shooting – rabbits, hares, wild duck – anything is welcome as an addition to rations in a town these days.”
“Yes. I see,” replied Macdonald readily. “As you say a Londoner is slow to observe what is plain to the countryman. I am always ready to acknowledge my indebtedness to those who help my shortcomings in that respect. Mr. Hoggett, for instance, has been most helpful.”
“An excellent fellow,” rejoined Mr. Shand, “and well versed in local lore. But obtuse, Chief Inspector, obtuse. However, you do not wish for my views on that matter. I should, however, like to ask you for certain information if you are able to disclose it. You have, I assume, just come from seeing my tenant here at Thorpe Intak. I am much troubled in my mind about him. You can see the state into which this holding has fallen. I want to get rid of him and put in another tenant. My reason for coming here today was to see him and to tell him so. I intended to let him off his arrears of rent, provided he moves out immediately – and I consider that that is a very generous offer.”
“I don’t know much about rural tenures myself, sir,” rejoined Macdonald, “so I can’t offer an opinion on that matter but I would ask you to defer your interview for the time being.”
“For what reason, Inspector?”
“First, because I want Vintner just where he is until I know a little more about him. Next, I think if you evicted him now – or attempted to do so – he would probably cut his throat. He is just at the stage when any additional difficulties would bowl him over. Whether Vintner was connected with the crimes I am investigating I am unable to say, but I think he may be able to produce some useful information if he’s carefully handled.”
“Humph. How do you know he won’t bolt?”
“I don’t think he would get very far. I am having the roads watched – and Vintner is no fellsman.”
Mr. Shand frowned.
“It’s very annoying,” he said. “I wanted to get this matter settled before I returned home. My home is in Derbyshire, and I only come here for visits to keep an eye on my property.”
“If you could make it convenient to stay here a few days longer, sir, it might be a considerable help to me – and you would probably be able to regain possession here with a minimum of trouble.”
“I must ask you to enlarge on these points, Inspector.”
“Certainly. In the first case. I want all the information I can get as to who has been seen in the dales – and you are a fisherman. Next, when Anthony Vintner has answered all my questions and recovered his equilibrium to some extent, I think you will find no difficulty in getting him to accept your offer – but I must ask you to leave him alone for the time being.”
“I see. Well, Inspector, every responsible citizen is taught that it is his duty to assist the police. If I can help you, I will certainly stay.”
“Thank you, sir,” rejoined Macdonald politely.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN MACDONALD got back to Wenningby Barns that evening, he found Giles Hoggett cooking supper for him. After they had eaten and cleared away the dishes, they sat by the fire and Macdonald said:
“Will you tell me about fishing rights here? I want all the information you can give. You have rights on this side of the river only, I take it?”
“On both sides,” replied Hoggett. “The fishing rights here depend on the ownership of the dales, and that fact takes us back a very long time in history. The dales, as you probably know, are narrow strips of land at right angles to the river. In ancient times every man in Wenningby had one or more dales, as this valley land was the most fertile in the settlement. It was shared by everybody, quite equitably, and the curious thing is that ownership of the dales took no account of the river as a boundary, some of the dale strips continuing in a straight line across the river. My dale strips go right across the river, they’re let to Richard Blackthorn. However, I still own fishing rights on both banks where I own the dales, and so, of course, does Shand – and the contiguous landowners.”
“Doesn’t this arrangement involve complications sometimes?” queried Macdonald, and Hoggett nodded.
“Yes, it has caused quite a number. As you can see for yourself, the dales are so narrow that while fishing you are off your own dale, and on to someone else’s in no time, almost without knowing it. The arrangement my father made with the Garths was this: Mr. Garth and my father agreed to fish right across each other’s dales, both sides of the river. That was all right until Mr. Garth let his fishing to the Carnton Anglers’ Association. Quite profitable to him, but very annoying for us. It meant that while the old arrangement held, we shared the fishing with about two hundred Carnton Anglers – not our idea of a fair division. There was a good deal of unpleasantness for some time, and at last we compromised by the Anglers fishing from the dales on the south side of the river, while the Garths and ourselves continued to fish right along on the north bank, so far as the dales are concerned, though farther upstream the rights are ours alone.”
“I see – but isn’t it a bit difficult to know when to warn anyone off? For instance, when your wife saw Ginner fishing, in your water, how did she know he hadn’t a permit from the Garths?”
“She could be certain of that when she first asked – and she did ask – why a man was fishing on that stretch. Had it been with permission of the Garths if would have been stated immediately. Actually if I give anyone a permit to fish I make a habit of letting the Garths know, and Miss Garth does the same for me. There is very little fishing on our side except for our own families, who are all well known. The Anglers fish on the other side.”
“But legally you both have the right – by ancient, usage – to fish either side up and down each other’s dales, save for the gentlemen’s agreement.”
“Yes. That’s true – but our stretch is a long way from anywhere and we don’t have much trouble ‘these days.”
Macdonald fell into a reverie for a while, and then he started talking. Warm, rested, and well-fed, he felt disposed to talk again. He told Hoggett about the portrait of Gordon Ginner and Vintner’s account of his acquaintanceship with Ginner and his history of himself.
“I think all that is probably true, as far as it goes, but I doubt if it goes all the way,” said Macdonald. “My own belief is that Vintner knew Ginner before he saw him in the pub in Morecambe, and that he was unwilling to have him as a lodger but was afraid to refuse. Vintner said that Ginner went off early one morning, a week after he had first arrived. He gave September 1st as the day of Ginner’s departure. Incidentally Vintner knows a good deal more about various items in this case. How did you first get to know him?”
“He has been sketching between here and Garthmere all the summer, particularly along the valley.
He was always pleasant and asked if we minded his going on our land. I was glad for him to do so and my wife was interested in his painting. He’s done some good studies of Ingleborough and the view over the Wenning to Hornby.”
“So you got used to seeing him about here?”
“Aye. He was down here most days in the summer.”
“Will you describe the coat you missed from this place?”
“It was a very old raincoat, lined with a sort of green tartan and supposed to be reversible. It was so old it was almost a pantomime garment, and it was very long and full. We all used it down here for years, and then I took it into use on the farm when things got short, but Kate objected and I brought it down here again in case she destroyed it. She said it was a moth-eaten menace.”
“Vintner said he saw an old tramp in the valley, early in September. The tramp must have been wearing your old raincoat turned inside out, plus Gorge’s fishing cap and your father’s steel rimmed glasses.”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Hoggett, and Macdonald went on:
“The point which interests me is this. Vintner obviously knew about the coat and the cap and the glasses – but I’ve no proof that he ever saw anybody in them, or, if anybody wore them, that it wasn’t Vintner himself. The trouble is that I can’t take everything he says at its face value without further proof because I think he’s made up so many yarns in his time he’s got into the habit of it and doesn’t tell the truth except by accident.”
“Let’s get some dates down and see how it all fits in,” said Giles Hoggett, and Macdonald agreed.
“That’s the idea. Got a sheet of paper? Good. We’ll both do a calendar of our own and see what we can fit in. My first date is August 15th, when Ginner was last seen at his lodgings.”
“August 15th,” murmured Mr. Hoggett. “We cut Richard Blackthorn’s oats on August 15th. It was wonderful weather. I’d say no one in the place was down in the dales that week – we worked on by moonlight.”
“Vintner met Ginner in ‘The Bunch of Grapes’ on August 24th,” went on Macdonald, and Giles Hoggett intervened:
The Theft of the Iron Dogs Page 9