a few minutes and then returned.
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Murder at Hazelmoor
The Major had gone up the stairs but Evans was in
the hall. He had the air of a bulldog on guard, his small
deep-set eyes watched Ronnie with a somewhat mali-cious
scrutiny.
"I say," said Ronnie. "I thought you could never wash
out blood stains. I thought, however much you washed
them, they always came back. Oh, of course--the old
fellow was sandbagged, wasn't he? Stupid of me. It was
one of these, wasn't it?" He took up a long narrow bol-ster
that lay against one of the other doors. He weighed
it thoughtfully and balanced it in his hand. "Nice little
toy, eh?" He made a few tentative swings with it in
the air.
Evans was silent.
"Well," said Ronnie realizing that the silence was not
a wholly appreciative one, "I'd better be getting along.
I'm afraid I've been a bit tactless, eh?" He jerked his
head towards the upper story. "I forgot about them being
such pals and all that. Two of a kind, weren't they? Well,
I'm really going now. Sorry if I've said all the wrong
things."
He walked across the hall and out through the front
door. Evans stayed impassively in the hall, and only
when he had heard the latch of the gate close behind
Mr. Garfield did he mount the stairs and rejoin Major
Burnaby. Without any word or comment he resumed
where he had left off, going straight across the room and
kneeling down in front of the boot cupboard.
At half past three their task was finished. One trunk
of clothes and underclothes was allotted to Evans, and
another was strapped up ready to be sent to the Seamen's
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Agatha Christie
Orphanage. Papers and bills were packed into an attache
case and Evans was given instructions to see a local firm
of removers about the storage of the various sporting
trophies and heads, as there was no room for them in
Major Burnaby's cottage. Since Hazelmoor was only rented
furnished no other questions arose.
When all this was settled Evans cleared his throat
nervously once or twice and then said:
"Beg pardon, sir, but--I'll be wanting a job to look
after a gentleman, same as I did to look after the Capting."
"Yes, yes, you can tell anyone to apply to me for a
recommendation. That will be quite all right."
"Begging your pardon, sir, that wasn't quite what I
meant. Rebecca and me, sir, we've talked it over and
we was wondering if, sir--if maybe you would give us
a trial?"
"Oh! but--well--I look after myself as you know. That
old what's her name comes in and cleans for me once a
day and cooks a few things. That's--er--about all I can
afford."
"It isn't the money that matters so much, sir," said
Evans quickly. "You see, sir, I was very fond of the
Capting and--well, if I could do for you, sir, the same
as I did for him, well, it would be almost like the same
thing, if you know what I mean."
The Major cleared his throat and averted his eyes.
"Very decent of you, pon my word. I'll--I'll think
about it." And escaping with alacrity he almost bolted
down the road. Evans stood looking after him an understanding
smile upon his face.
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Murder at Hazelmoor
"Like as two peas, him and the Capting," he mur-inured.
And then a puzzled expression came over his face.
"Where can they have got to?" he murmured. "It's a
bit queer that. I must ask Rebecca what she thinks."
24. Inspector Narracott Discusses the
Case
"I A M not entirely happy about it, sir," said Inspector
Narracott.
The Chief Constable looked at him inquiringly.
"No," said Inspector Narracott. "I'm not nearly as happy
about it as I was."
"You don't think we've got the right man?"
"I'm not satisfied. You see, to start with, everything
pointed the one way but now--it's different."
"The evidence against Pearson remains the same."
"Yes, but there's a good deal of further evidence come
to light, sir. There's the other Pearson--Brian. Feeling
that we had no further to look I accepted the statement
that he was in Australia. Now, it turns out that he was
in England all the time. It seems he arrived back in
England two months ago--traveled on the same boat as
these Willetts apparently. Looks as though he had got
sweet on the girl on the voyage. Anyway, for whatever
reason he didn't communicate with any of his family.
Neither his sister nor his brother had any idea he was
in England. On Thursday of last week he left the Ormsby
Hotel in Russell Square and drove to Paddington, from
there until Tuesday night, when Enderby ran across
him, he refuses to account for his movements in any way."
"You pointed out to him the gravity of such a course
of action?"
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Murder at Hazelmoor
"Said he didn't give a damn. He had had rothing to
do with the murder and it was up to us to proxe he had.
The way he had employed his time was his owr business
and none of ours, and he declined definitely to state
where he had been and what he had been doing."
"Most extraordinary," said the Chief Constable.
"Yes, sir. It's an extraordinary case. You see, there's
no use getting away from the facts, this man's far more
the type than the other. There's something incongruous
about James Pearson hitting an old man on the head with
a sandbag--but in a manner of speaking it might be all
in the day's work to Brian Pearson. He's a hot-tempered,
high-handed young man--and he profits to exactly the
same extent remember. Yes--he came over with Mr.
Enderby this morning, very bright and breezy, quite
square and above-board, that was his attitude. But it
won't wash, sir, it won't wash."
"H'm--you mean--"
"It isn't borne out by the facts. Why didn't he come
forward before? His uncle's death was in all the papers
Saturday. His brother was arrested Monday. And he
doesn't give a sign of life. And he wouldn't have, either,
if that journalist hadn't run across him in the garden of
Sittaford House at midnight last night."
"What was he doing there? Enderby, I mean?"
"You know what journalists are," said Narracott, "al-ways
nosing round. They're uncanny."
"They are a darned nuisance very often," said the Chief
Constable. "Though they have their uses too."
"I fancy it was the young lady put him up to it," said
Narracott.
Agatha Christie
"The young lady?"
"Miss Emily Trefusis."
"How did she know anything about it?"
"She was up at Sittaford nosing around. And she's what
you'd call a sharp young lady. There's not much gets past
her."
"What was Brian Pearson's own account of his
movements?''
"Said he came to Sittaford House to see his young
lady, Miss Willett, that is. She came out of the house to
meet him when everyone was asleep because she didn't
want her mother to know about it. That's their story."
Inspector Narracott's voice expressed distinct disbelief.
"It's my belief, sir, that if Enderby hadn't run him to
earth, he never would have come forward. He'd have
gone back to Australia and claimed his inheritance from
there."
A taint smile crossed the Chief Constable's lips.
"How he must have cursed these pestilential prying
journalists," he murmured.
"There's something else come to light," continued the
Inspector. "There are three Pearsons, you remember,
and Sylvia Pearson is married to Martin Dering, the
novelist. He told me that he lunched and spent the afternoon
with an American publisher and went to a literary
dinner in the evening, but it now seems that he
wasn't at that dinner at all."
"Who says so?"
"Enderby again."
"I think I must meet Enderby," said the Chief Con214
Murder at Hazelmoor
stable. "He appears to be one of the live wires of this
investigation. No doubt about it the Daily Wire does
have some bright young men on their staff."
"Well, of course, that may mean little or nothing,"
continued the Inspector. "Captain Trevelyan was killed
before six o'clock, so where Dering spent his evening is
really of no consequence--but why should he have deliberately
lied about it? I don't like it, sir."
"No," agreed the Chief Constable. "It seems a little
unnecessary."
"It makes one think that the whole thing may be false.
It's a far-fetched supposition, I suppose, but Dering might have left Paddington by the twelve ten train--arrived at
Exhampton some time after five, have kilied the old man,
got the six ten train and been back home again before
midnight. At any rate it's got to be looked into, sir. We've
got to investigate his financial position, see if he was
desperately hard up. Any money his wife came into he
would have the handling of--you've only got to look at
her to know that. We've got to make perfectly sure that
the afternoon alibi holds water."
"The whole thing is extraordinary," commented the
Chief Constable. "But I still think the evidence against
Pearson is pretty conclusive. 1 see that you don't agree
with me--you've a feeling you've got hold of the wrong
"The evidence is all right," admitted Inspector Narracott,
"circumstantial and all that, and any jury ought
to convict on it. Still, what you say is true enough--I
don't see him as a murderer."
Agatha Christie
"And his young lady is very active in the case," said
the Chief Constable.
"Miss Trefusis, yes, she's a one and no mistake. A real
fine young lady. And absolutely determined to get him
off. She's got hold of that journalist, Enderby, and she's
working him for all she's worth. She's a great deal too
good for Mr. James Pearson. Beyond his good looks I
wouldn't say there was much to him in the way of character."
"But if she's a managing young woman that's what she
likes," said the Chief Constable.
"Ah well," said Inspector Narracott, "there's no accounting
for tastes. Well, you agree, sir, that I had better
take up this alibi of Dering's without any more delay."
"Yes, get on to it at once. What about the fourth interested
party in the will? There's a fourth, isn't there?"
"Yes, the sister. That's perfectly all right. I have made
inquiries there. She was at home at six o'clock all right,
sir. I'll get right on with the Dering business."
It was about five hours later that Inspector Narracott
found himself once more in the small sitting-room of The
Nook. This time Mr. Dering was at home. He couldn't
be disturbed as he was writing, the maid had said at first,
but the Inspector had produced an official card and bade
her take it to her master without delay. Whilst waiting
he strode up and down the room. His mind was working
actively. Every now and then he picked up a small object
from a table, looked at it almost unseeingly, and then
replaced it. The cigarette box of Australian fiddleback--a
present from Brian Pearson possibly. He picked up a
Z16
Murder at Hazelmoor
rather battered old book. "Pride and Prejudice." He
opened the cover and saw scrawled on the fly-leaf in
rather faded ink the name, Martha Rycroft. Somehow,
the name of Rycroft seemed familiar, but he could not
for the moment remember why. He was interrupted as
the door opened and Martin Dering came into the room.
The novelist was a man of middle height with thick
rather heavy chestnut hair. He was good-looking in a
somewhat heavy fashion, with lips that were rather full
and red.
Inspector Narracott was not prepossessed by his ap-pearance.
"Good morning, Mr. Dering. Sorry to trouble you all
here again."
"Oh, it doesn't matter, Inspector, but really I can't
tell you any more than you've been told already."
"We were led to understand that your brother-in-law,
Mr. Brian Pearson, was in Australia. Now, we find that
he has been in England for the last two months. I might
have been given an inkling of that I think. Your wife
distinctly told me that he was in New South Wales."
"Brian in England!" Dering seemed genuinely aston-ished.
"I can assure you, Inspector, that I had no knowl-edge
of the fact--nor, I'm sure, had my wife."
"He has not communicated with you in any way?"
"No, indeed, I know for a fact that Sylvia has twice
written him letters to Australia during that time."
"Oh, well, in that case I apologize, sir. But naturally
I thought he would have communicated with his relations
and I was a bit sore with you for holding out on me."
Agatha Christie
"Well, as I tell you we knew nothing. Have a cigarette,
Inspector? By the way, I see you've recaptured your
escaped convict."
"Yes, got him late Tuesday night. Rather bad luck for
him the mist coming down. He walked right round in a
circle. Did about twenty miles to find himself about half
a mile from Princetown at the end of it."
"Extraordinary how everyone goes round in circles in
a fog. Good thing he didn't escape on the Friday. I
suppose he would have had this murder put down to
him as a certainty."
"He's a dangerous man. Freemantle Freddy, they used
to call him. Robbery with violence, assault--led the most
extraordinary double life. Half the time he passed as an
educated, respectable wealthy man. I am not at all sure
myself that Broadmoor wasn't the place for him. A kind
of criminal mania used to come over him from time to
time. He would disappear and consort with the lowest
> characters."
"I suppose many people don't escape from Prince-town?"
"It's well-nigh impossible, sir. But this particular es-cape
was extraordinarily well planned and carried out.
We haven't nearly got to the bottom of it yet."
"Well," Dering rose and glanced at his watch, "if there's
nothing more, Inspector--I'm afraid I am rather a busy
man--"
"Oh, but there is something more, Mr. Dering. I want
to know why you told me that you were at a literary
dinner at the Cecil Hotel on Friday night?"
"I--I don't understand you, Inspector."
Murder at Hazelmoor
"I think you do, sir. You weren't at that dinner, Mr.
Dering."
Martin Dering hesitated. His eyes ran uncertainly from
the Inspector's face, up to the ceiling, then to the door,
and then to his feet.
The Inspector waited calm and stolid.
"Well," said Martin Dering at last, "supposing I wasn't. What the hell has that got to do with you? What have
my movements, five hours after my uncle was murdered,
got to do with you or anyone else?"
"You made a certain statement to us, Mr. Dering, and
I want that statement verified. Part of it has already
proved to be untrue. I've got to check up on the other
half. You say you lunched and spent the afternoon with
a friend."
"Yes--my American publisher."
"His name?"
"Rosenkraun, Edgar Rosenkraun."
"Ah, and his address?"
"He's left England. He left last Saturday."
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