by Robert Warr
‘I will give this sovereign to the person who can tell me who owns this gun,’ my master held the weapon up as he spoke.
There was a moment’s silence then an amused voice answered, ‘I can’t be sure from this distance but I think she belongs to me.’
‘Please come here and look closely,’ my master spoke calmly, although I could see that he was tense with excitement. ‘Who are you my good fellow?’
‘Edward Hardy.’ A young man replied as he rose from a bench and pushed his way through the crowd that parted in front of him as if he was somehow unclean. He looked carefully at the gun and then smiled as if at a private joke
‘Ain’t no doubt, Inspector, she’s my old gun and no mistake,’ he smiled warmly, and held out his hand. ‘You’ll be giving me my sovereign now.’
There was a faint rustle of movement as Sergeant Allen and Inspector Hastings surreptitiously moved closer to the young man. Behind them, Lord Ballard gestured to a big burly man who was sitting by the door; he stood up blocking the most obvious route of escape.
‘Where did you last see your gun?’ my master asked softly.
‘In court, when Lord Ballard took her,’ Hardy replied in a very aggrieved voice. ‘He said I’d been poaching on his land. He wouldn’t believe me, took my gun and sentenced me to six months hard labour.’
I very rarely see my master at a loss for word. Silently, he handed the young man his sovereign. There was a ripple of laughter at my master and Lord Ballard’s discomfiture. With a rueful smile, my master held up his hand for silence. The crowd hushed eager for the next part of their unexpected entertainment.
‘My Lord, what did you do with this gun after you confiscated it?’
‘Went poaching!’ some wit shouted from the back of the room and Lord Ballard waited until the resultant laughter died away.
‘I told Jackson, my Head Gamekeeper, to take it to the smithy,’ Lord Ballard said after a moment’s thought. ‘He was to make sure that the smith destroyed it.’
With a violent oath, the burly man snatched up a bag and a shotgun from his seat and ripping open the door ran from the room.
‘Jackson, come back!’ Lord Ballard shouted ineffectively as a draught of cold air told me that the murderer had made it to the outside.
The policemen and I rushed from the room slightly impeded by the locals who were obviously not going to miss any of the excitement. Being smaller and far more nimble, I managed to weave my way through the legs of the crowd and broke out into the open. Fortunately, the night was lit by a full moon and, by its silvery light, I could see that Jackson had already opened a fifty-yard lead while the crowd had impeded us.
The two inspectors came through the door hard on my heels and while my master called on Jackson to stop, Inspector Hastings blew his whistle. There were answering blasts from the kennels. The running man just kept going and it occurred to me that if he reached the darkness of the woods he would be clear. With a low bark, I started running after the fugitive, remorselessly closing the gap with every bound. Behind me, I could hear the running footsteps of the policemen but it was obvious that Jackson was the fitter man.
We were almost level with the church when my master shouted, ‘Snuffles! Bring him down!’
Looking up I assessed the gamekeeper and, seeing that he was carrying his gun in both hands over his chest, I realised that I had no chance of taking him by the hand or forearm. He also looked very strong and I did not want to suffer the indignity of racing out of the village hanging from an oblivious villain’s arm. One does have one’s image to consider after all.
I gathered myself, shortened my stride so that I was matching his speed then sprang forward and fastened my teeth on the back of his right leg between the top of his boots and his breeches. Frankly, it was like trying to bite into a piece of wood covered with old leather but I have diligently exercised my jaws at every opportunity and I proved to be dog enough for the job. I tasted blood and felt something tear in the muscles of his leg.
With an inarticulate cry of pain, the gamekeeper stopped running and brought the butt of his gun smashing down towards my head. It was let go or die, so I did the prudent thing and ducked, my head turned away from the blow. The butt hit me on the right shoulder with enough force to knock me sideways into the road. I was winded for a moment but, fortunately, I suffered no lasting damage.
Jackson looked around him in desperation. It was obvious that he could no longer run and it would be moments before the policemen reached him. With a feral snarl, he turned and aimed his shotgun at a young woman who was watching the proceedings from her garden gate.
‘Keep away or I’ll kill her!’ He shouted at the officers while gesturing to the girl with the barrel. ‘Come here, come here right now or I’ll shoot.’
The policemen jerked to a halt. The man was a known killer and it was not worth risking another life. The woman obviously scared almost witless, just stared at the gun. He moved the barrel slightly to one side and pulled the trigger. A jet of flame shot from the muzzle illuminating the scene clearly for one brief second. The window of the cottage shattered and the girl put her hand to her face with a small gasp of pain. The gamekeeper gestured again and numbly she opened the gate and walked towards him. He reached out and grasped her firmly then, using her for support limped slowly to the church door.
‘Jackson, give up.’ My master shouted.
The gamekeeper’s only response was to dig the muzzle of his gun into the young woman’s side causing a small sound of protest. Helplessly we watched as he opened the church door and dragged his captive into the building. In the few seconds, after Jackson entered the church, but before he turned to secure the door I saw a small black and white shape follow him in.
Several minutes passed during which Inspector Hastings and Sergeant Allen tried to control the wildly excited crowd. My master knelt by me and gently checked to make sure that I had taken no serious damage before he let me stand up.
One of the villagers shouted excitedly and pointed up to where Jackson was leaning through one of the tower’s crenellations.
‘Thompson!’ the gamekeeper shouted, his voice revealing a dangerous mixture of fear and exhilaration. It was the voice of a man who could kill just because it seemed to be a good idea at the time.
‘Yes, I am here,’ my master replied, sounding completely calm and if anything rather disinterested in the current situation.
‘Just to get things straight, Inspector, I’ve got Sally Tanner up here with me; she’s tied to the flagpole. All she wants to do is return home to her husband and children. If anyone rushes me I will shoot her and at this range the pellets would kill instantly.’
‘Let her go, Jackson. What possible benefit do you obtain from holding a frightened woman?’
‘I can force you to talk to me and hear my side of the affair.’
‘I would have listened to you anyway,’ my master shrugged as the gamekeeper rejected this statement with a string of rural profanities. Once the tirade had finished my master looked straight at the man and called calmly, ‘you ran when Lord Ballard told us that you had the gun. That would appear to be a suspicious action. Can you help explain why you fled?’
‘I was afraid that you wouldn’t believe me. I was scared of you, so, without thinking through the consequences, I just ran.’
‘Very well, I can accept that you panicked. Why didn’t you destroy the gun?’
‘Truth to tell, I dropped into the Inn on my way back from court and had a few pints of cider because giving evidence always upsets me. After a while, I went home and later that evening realised I had forgotten the gun. I returned to the inn but there was no sign of it.’
‘You of course asked the innkeeper if he had seen it and then told Lord Ballard that it had been mislaid?’
‘No, Inspector, I was very embarrassed and didn’t want anyone else to know.’
My master stood for a while as if lost in thought while some of the more helpful villagers offered advice
as to the gamekeeper’s veracity. After a while, my master once more looked up at the villain.
‘What you are saying, Jackson, is that someone stole the gun, waited more than six months and then shot down Benjamin Fleming, shooting from a place of concealment. Once the murder had been committed, the killer paused to hide the murder weapon and carried the body through a dark wood, back to the kennels. Once there, he rigged a complex device to make the death look like suicide?’
‘Exactly Inspector, it is the only reasonable explanation.’
‘It just will not do, Jackson, as it doesn’t explain the dogs.’
‘What about the dogs?’ the gamekeeper sounded rather surprised by the question.
‘They did not bark last night; if they had someone would have come down to see what the fuss was about.’
‘Maybe they were all asleep.’
‘Thirty Spaniels would not all sleep through someone carrying a bloody corpse through a kennel yard. Once one barks, they all start.’ My master waited for a few minutes but when it became obvious that no response would be forthcoming he continued, ‘the reason they did not bark is quite simple. They knew the visitor and it was someone who had every right to be in the stable yard late at night. If you also accept that the dogs were not panicked by the smell of blood I think that you will agree that it narrows the field of possible suspects down to only one real possibility: a gamekeeper.
‘Jackson, why did you kill Benjamin Fleming?’
The gamekeeper blustered for a few more minutes trying to find another believable scenario. Each time he said something my master repeated his question ‘Jackson, why did you kill Benjamin Fleming?’
‘Because I had to, Inspector, I had no choice!’ Eventually Jackson broke and we could all hear the raw emotion in his voice as he almost screamed out these words, words that would inevitably convict him.
‘Tell me why you believed that you had to kill Ben?’ my master asked with genuine sympathy.
‘He was due to get married this summer and Lord Ballard had promised that he and his bride would have a larger house. I was pleased for them because they were a pleasant couple though I must admit that I was a bit jealous of him, having tried my luck with Miss Cooper. Only last week I was told that they were going to be given my house. I refused to believe it and told my informer that he was wrong as my house always went with the Head Gamekeeper’s position. My informant laughed pityingly and said that he was surprised I hadn’t heard. I asked him what he meant and I was shattered to find that I was to be dismissed and Ben was to have my job along with my home.
‘Something had to be done, Inspector, and I spent a long night worrying before I realised that a dead man could not be given my job. I thought about how I could kill him and get away with it. A simple accident seemed to be far too likely to attract suspicion, so I decided that Ben should kill himself. I thought that if I made his death particularly horrible it would increase the times I could legitimately comfort Elizabeth.’
‘Jackson, who ever told you that was lying.’ There was a deep anguish in Lord Ballard’s voice, ‘you know I would never treat a good man so badly.’
‘Don’t lie to me now, your lordship,’ Jackson shouted back. ‘Your own son told me about your plans.’
‘He was lying, I think you have been the victim of a damn cruel joke,’ Lord Ballard said with a deep and sincere sorrow. As he spoke he brought one hand up to his chest as if clutching at a sudden pain.’
There was something in the noble man’s voice and bearing that showed Jackson that Lord Ballard was telling him the truth.
‘I’ve killed a friend and destroyed my life on the strength of your spoilt boy’s joke,’ Jackson shouted his voice reflecting the insane horror of his revelation. He turned away from us and we could see that he was doing something. There was a faint click and I realised that he had reloaded his empty barrel.
‘Jackson, you have nothing to gain by continuing this folly, come down and I know you will be treated fairly,’ Lord Ballard shouted up to him. ‘My son’s irresponsibility led you into this mess and I will engage the finest barrister to defend you in court.’
‘I have no doubt you would my Lord,’ Jackson’s voice had a strange flat quality that I did not like. ‘He would ensure that the law was perfectly followed and perhaps delay my execution by a few days.
‘I have a better idea my Lord, why don’t you see if your money can make things right for the Tanners? Your son planted these seeds of grief and it is only right there should be a final harvest. I’m going to blow Sally’s pretty head clean off and then I’ll do the same for myself.’
He laughed a strange bitter sound and turned once more towards the centre of the roof. A scream told us that the young woman could see her death in his actions. As he brought the gun to his shoulder, he half sat in the embrasure probably to relieve the pain in his injured leg. He turned slightly obviously aiming his gun at his hysterical victim and suddenly unexpectedly jerked backwards, as he shifted the shotgun discharged and he slowly toppled backwards off the tower and fell silently to his death below.
Looking up we could see the head and shoulders of a dog, who started barking at the crowd below.
Naturally, there was a lot of confused running around before we managed to get order restored and it was several hours before Sally Tanner calmed down enough to tell us what had happened right at the end.
She had seen Jackson turn, her death written on his face, and had started to scream for mercy. He had smiled and shifted his aim so that she could see the moonlight glinting off the inside of the barrel. She was lost and watched hopelessly as he held his breath and started tightening his finger. At that precise moment, Pepper had shot out of the stairwell, and leapt up at the gamekeeper’s chest. The force of the impact had knocked Jackson backwards so that when the gun discharged the shot cloud had passed harmlessly over Mrs Tanner’s head. Either the original impact or the gun’s recoil pushed Jackson past the point of no return and his body had followed his mind to destruction.
-----
‘So that is Pepper’s story,’ Snuffles said raising his head from his paws. ‘Now come along and meet him. Then if you are feeling generous you could take him down to the small pond for a swim.’
‘Of course I will Snuffles, if you will just clear up two loose ends for me. What happened to Vasio and how did Pepper end up at Arlesford?’
‘Lord Ballard decided that he had tolerated his son’s behaviour for far too long. He has been given an allowance provided he lives abroad.’
‘A remittance man,’ I said delightedly.
‘We were just about to leave Winterbourne Somer when Lord Ballard approached your uncle with Pepper on a lead and asked him to give the dog to the General. My master naturally asked why he wanted to part with such a good dog. His Lordship smiled and said there were two basic reasons. Firstly, Jackson had been very popular in the village and it was more than likely that some angry villager would take revenge on the dog.’
‘And?’ I asked when Snuffles was silent for a few moments.
My friend glared at me before continuing, ‘and secondly Lord Ballard said that having seen me it was obvious that the Arlesford Spaniels needed some fresh blood.’
The Arlesford Spaniels Always Get Their Man
An extract from the journal of Miss Isobel Fraser, written for her sister, Lucy, in Boston.
Saturday Morning – Arlesford House
I awoke earlier than normal to the sound of an outraged bellow followed by sounds of a short but loud conversation that was just too far away for me to hear what was being said. After a minute or two when peace descended on the house again, the silence was itself almost as disturbing as the earlier noise. I rolled over again and wondered if this was what Shakespeare meant by ‘divers alarums and excursions.’
I had just started to doze off when there was another loud and angry exclamation from outside the house. Although I could not make out what was being shouted, I thought I recognised the
General’s voice. Curiosity forced me to rise and having wrapped my robe around me I crossed to the window and looked out onto a cold, misty dawn.
The General was standing by the entrance to the maze in loud and voluble conversation with the head gardener and one of his assistants. The General must have come straight from his bed because he was wearing a dressing gown with his feet in casual slippers. His hair, disordered from the night’s sleep, stood out from his head, the early morning sun catching it making him look like an angry, medieval abbot.
As I watched, Richard and James walked into my sight and crossed to the General. They were accompanied, as ever, by Snuffles who walked quietly by his master’s knee. Although the two men were also wearing their dressing gowns, it was apparent that the Inspector and his dog were working. After some conversation, the five men turned and walked into the maze.
Lucy, it was obvious that some crime had been committed in the maze, although what it could be I could not fathom. I craned my head but could not see exactly where they were heading although I thought it was towards the section of the maze dedicated to the Rear Admiral’s years as a captain.
Turning away from the window, I made a hurried toilette. In less than ten minutes, I was strolling fully attired into the maze. It was not hard to find the men as their tracks showed clearly in the dew-laden grass and I could hear the buzz of annoyed conversation coming from one of the arbours.
Knowing the great gallantry of the Thompson men and being sensible of the fact that they would want to shield me, as a woman, from any unpleasantness I called out a greeting before a final turn of the maze would bring me into the arbour with them.
‘Mornin’ Isobel,’ The General replied in a semi-bellow. ‘Come on in. There’s been a bit of mischief in the night.’
I went into the arbour, and stopped with amazement. The octagonal flagstone that bears the picture of one of the Rear Admiral’s ships, in this case H.M.S. Indomitable, a sixty-four gun ship, had been torn up and cast to one side. Where the stone had been set there was a large hole easily five feet deep and about seven feet across. I looked at the hole but could not see any logical reason for anyone to spend a large proportion of the night engaged in such a pointless activity.