Crossword Mystery

by E. R. Punshon

  So he contented himself, as he handed over the two pound notes he had promised, with saying again how glad he was to get his watch back, and with asking casually what would seem, he hoped, the very natural question where she had found it.

  The answer she gave was that she had picked it up on the shore early that morning, and this answer was obviously false, since if the watch had lain exposed to the rain all night it would certainly have shown some sign of that fact, while it was not on the shore, but just outside the entrance to the drive, that he had deposited it.

  There was, of course, the possibility that she was not the person directly involved, but only an intermediary, and for the present it seemed to Bobby better to let her suppose her story was accepted and believed. So he thanked her again profusely, offered her a compliment on her good looks she showed no disposition to resent and that he hoped might induce her to think it natural if he tried to follow up their acquaintance, and then let her depart with her two pound notes while he went back to join the others and show off his recovered possession.

  Colin, however, had disappeared back to his study of the Racing Guide and his excursions into the higher mathematics of weights and ages and starting-prices and so on; and Miss Raby had returned to her type-writer, and a fresh copy to be made of a much-corrected chapter in the new book on “Hidden Gold Reserves: Their Power and Influence.”

  But Mr. Winterton was still in the dining-room, and Bobby suggested a stroll in the garden his host did not seem much inclined for till Bobby whispered that he asked for it as a police officer, not as a guest.

  “Oh, very well, very well,” Mr. Winterton said in a slightly vexed tone; “but I’m hoping there’ll be something soon I’ll be able to tell you about that’ll put things in a clearer light.”

  “If there is anything you can tell us,” Bobby said gravely, “I think you would be well advised to do so. We cannot give you much help when we are kept so much in the dark.”

  “That’ll be all right soon,” Mr. Winterton retorted, “but I can’t tell you what I don’t know, and I can’t tell you other people’s business I’ve promised to keep to myself.”

  They left the house by the door that led from the study to the garden, leaving Miss Raby regarding disapprovingly an employer who so sadly neglected his work. When they were a little distant from the house, Bobby said:

  “I could not help noticing you had a telegram at luncheon. It seemed to me it might have some connection...”

  Mr. Winterton hesitated, flushed a little, and then answered: “My brother has lost his life already. That may have been quite accidental. I don’t know. But I don’t mean to risk anything of the sort happening to anyone else. I’m not going to take that responsibility. I’m not thinking of myself. There is someone else who might be in very great danger indeed if it got out what that telegram meant. It might be a matter of life or death for him, too. All this is someone else’s business just as much as it is mine, and I’ve got to think of him.”

  “Then, Mr. Winterton,” Bobby said firmly, “I shall apply to my chiefs to withdraw me. I can’t feel that there is any justification for asking me to accept responsibility when I am kept so much and so deliberately in the dark.”

  “You aren’t asked to accept responsibility,” Mr. Winterton snapped. “I pay for you to be here, and I take all the responsibility.”

  “There’s another thing I want to make clear,” Bobby went on. disregarding this. “I don’t know who killed your dog, and I don’t know what it means, but I feel it may mean something pretty serious. You have asked us for protection. It is our duty to do what we can to protect any person who seems to be threatened in any way. I want, therefore, to ask you to adopt every possible precaution, especially during this afternoon, as I shall have to be out of the house till late perhaps.”

  “You mean you want to ring up and ask for help?” Winterton demanded.

  “To be relieved,” Bobby corrected him, “on the grounds that you are refusing co-operation by keeping back material facts. But until I am relieved I remain more or less responsible, and, as I don’t at all like this business about your dog being killed, I’m asking you to promise not to leave the house on any account till I get back, and to be alone as little as possible. In short, to be as careful as you can. Probably you know better than I do where the danger is and what precautions to take.”

  “I wish I did,” Mr. Winterton answered, “but I don’t. I don’t even know if there is any real danger, any more than I know for certain whether my brother was murdered or whether it was just an accident. But, anyhow, you may be quite sure I’ll be as careful as I can. I shall spend most of the rest of the day in the study, and I can’t very well be dragged out and knocked on the head like poor Towser. I’ll keep Miss Raby with me till you get back, and I have a revolver. And to-night I’ll lock my door and barricade it, and the window as well, and if you hear anyone trying to break in and you aren’t too sound asleep...”

  “I don’t think I shall sleep very soundly. I hope you will,” Bobby answered in tones as grave as the other’s were light. “If I hear any noise I shall come at once.”

  “Oh, I shall sleep sound enough,” Mr. Winterton answered. As if tired of the subject, he began to talk about the various shrubs and flowers he was trying to grow. The strong sea air and a certain poverty of the soil made gardening somewhat troublesome, and Mr. Winterton grew quite eloquent about the difficulties encountered. He seemed, Bobby thought, in better spirits than previously, and he chatted in quite a lively, friendly manner. The garden was on a long slope rising upwards from the house, that was quite close to the shore of the Cove. On almost the highest spot, at the very end of the garden, nearly two hundred yards from the house, they came to the small stone summer-house in the form of a miniature Greek temple that, when he first saw it, had attracted Bobby’s interest and attention. It was now in a somewhat dilapidated condition, and the door had been secured by a padlock.

  “The roof was getting to look dangerous,” Mr. Winterton explained, “and so I had it shut up. I can’t make up my mind whether to have it repaired or pulled down altogether. It’s a fine view out to sea from here, isn’t it?”

  Bobby agreed that it was. They strolled on a little further, and then Mr. Winterton said he must be getting back to work or Miss Raby would be talking about another wasted day.

  Bobby accompanied him back to the house and took occasion once more to impress upon him the necessity of exercising every care, for indeed Bobby could not get out of mind the Airedale’s inexplicable death. It seemed to him a plain warning; indeed, a warning so plain it seemed also hardly genuine. At any rate, if mischief were intended, it would probably not materialise till night, since only during the night was the Airedale’s protection of special value.

  Deep in thought, he walked back through the garden towards the Greek temple summer-house. He had noticed footprints near it on the ground made soft by the recent heavy rain, and in his present mood of perplexity and apprehension there was nothing that he felt he dared neglect. That a woman had made them he soon convinced himself, and when he looked at the padlock fastening the door he saw at once fresh marks to suggest that it had been recently opened.

  He had some skill as an amateur locksmith, and by the aid of a pocket-knife supplied with one or two useful little tools he soon had it open. Inside, the little building had a very neglected appearance, and the roof certainly looked somewhat insecure. The webs of various spiders festooned the walls, and plainly the place had not been used for some considerable time. Nevertheless, the floor was still damp from what seemed a recent swilling down, and Bobby asked himself wonderingly why anyone should have taken the trouble to wash over the floor of this neglected place and yet leave those webs and that general dirt upon the walls.

  It seemed to him a puzzle, and there flashed into his mind a sudden idea that perhaps the answer to that puzzle, if only he could find it, was the answer also to all these other events that seemed to him so vaguely sinister,
in whose bewilderment he felt his mind caught up in amazement and in fear.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Telegram

  Bobby’s motor-cycle was still in the Fairview garage, but he did not get it out. It would be better to walk to-day, he thought; there would be more time then for that lingering and chatting so alien to the true motor-cyclist’s conception of life but so natural and wise a method of arriving at the truth of things. At a brisk pace he set off, accordingly, and on his way through the village he noticed specially the small cottage, a little apart from the others, which had been pointed out to him as that occupied by Mrs. Shipman, the owner of the “unlucky” black cat, and, presumably, by Laura Shipman as well.

  A tall, thin, somewhat untidy old woman was in the doorway of the cottage as he passed, and gave him a malevolent glare, though he fancied her ill will was more for the universe in general than for him in particular. He responded with a cheery greeting and a remark on the beauty of the day, and she muttered something in reply and went back into the house.

  “Pleasant old party,” he thought. “If I can manage to start a flirtation with Miss Laura, it’ll have to be without giving the old woman a chance to butt in.”

  The problem of the connection of this girl, Laura, with Mr. Winterton, and of the reason for the extraordinary interview she had had with him on the lawn in the, middle of the night, was one with which his mind was very busy. Yet he could not imagine how she could be connected either with any danger that might threaten George Winterton or with the foul play of which Bobby was growing more and more to believe the brother had been a victim.

  “Only how could murder, if it was murder, have been carried out, and what possible motive can there have been?” he asked himself bewilderedly, and found no answer.

  Four miles’ brisk walking brought him to Suffby Horpe, a village not much larger than Suffby Cove, but boasting a post office and a police station which was also the residence of Police-Constable Jennings, the victim of the mysterious assault committed on the morning of the appearance of the equally mysterious motorboat.

  Bobby’s first visit was to the post office, an establishment presided over by a pleasant-faced, chatty, middle-aged woman, who also sold everything – from tea in packets to cigarettes, chocolates, and film periodicals – that this age demands, whether in Mayfair, Whitechapel, or the most remote country village. Bobby began by buying a packet of cigarettes, and was pleased to find the postmistress knew all about him as a friend of Mr. Winterton’s staying at Fairview. A full report of him, his appearance at Fairview, his lost watch, had already been received by the good lady, and so Bobby had not the trouble of explaining who he was as he went on to inform her that Mr. Winterton would like repeated the telegram he had just received. There was, Bobby explained, a possibility that a mistake had been made in one of the words, and, as it was, he remarked carelessly, a code telegram dealing with business (“Stock Exchange transaction,” observed Bobby with indifferent impressiveness), it was important to be sure of absolute correctness.

  The post-mistress hesitated a little, evidently not quite clear about rules and regulations. But, then, Bobby had come straight from Fairview, and he was a very pleasant-spoken, good-looking youngster, possessing also what is so graphically described as a “way with him.” Moreover, there was a candour in his eyes, a curl in his hair, a quality in his smile, the post-mistress would in any case have found it hard to resist, especially when he was so plainly contemplating purchasing that large salad-bowl with a picture (“hand painted in colours”) of Suffby Cove on it she had had for years and never yet been able to get rid of. So the request for a repeat duly went off, and Bobby paid for his salad-bowl, arranged for it to be delivered at Fairview, and then departed to interview Police-Constable Jennings.

  Jennings himself was out on patrol, but in the doorway of their residence, that served also as the local police station, Mrs. Jennings was nursing a baby. Bobby’s excuse for calling was that he had recovered his lost watch, and wanted any, story the police might hear that it had been stolen to be disregarded. Though evidently a little puzzled by this emphatic contradiction of a suggestion no one seemed to have made, Mrs. Jennings promised to give the message to her husband on his return. By good luck, the famous wireless set was in full action, and Bobby, after making a prudent approach by way of admiring the baby and saying how different it looked from London babies (but he drew the line at kissing it; there are some sacrifices, he felt, not even stern duty may demand), he remarked on the excellence and clearness of the tone of the set. Mrs. Jennings, he soon found, was torn between pride in its possession, for it was something of a social asset to be the owner of the best wireless set in the neighbourhood, and resentment at money having been spent on it she could have put to other household uses. Bobby declared it was so good it had evidently been bought in London, and Mrs. Jennings said, with some slight, secret scorn of London, that, on the contrary, it came from a certain Norwich establishment. So Bobby confessed meekly that Norwich shops must evidently be fully equal to London establishments, and thanked her and went back to the post office, where the repeat message had just been received.

  Short as it was, Bobby read it over twice, told the post-mistress there had been no mistake, and undertook to deliver it himself to Mr. Winterton, chatted with her a little longer, and then resumed his walk. Reading the telegram before the post-mistress, he had tried to appear totally indifferent, but now he looked grave and troubled, for the message seemed to him to be capable of dark meanings, even though its receipt had apparently brought considerable relief to Mr. Winterton – another apparent contradiction it was not easy to understand.

  “Anyhow,” he thought, “it’ll be dead easy to follow up and find out what it means and, once that’s done, most likely we shall have the clue to the whole thing in our hands.”

  A motor-coach came along, and he hailed it and went on to Deneham, where he alighted at the station, which, as is the way of English country stations, was a good two miles outside the place itself. As he did so, he caught sight of Mrs. Cooper. She did not seem to have noticed him, and he went across behind one of the station buildings out of sight. In a moment or two she was joined by Adams, the Fairview chauffeur and gardener. Apparently they had come for some parcels waiting for them which they brought out and put into the car in which they had arrived. Then they drove off, and when they were out of sight Bobby strolled into the station to make some quite unnecessary inquiries about the trains. The station-master he found to be an intelligent, well-spoken man, who seemed much superior to the position he held in charge of this small and remote place. At one time, indeed, he had, Bobby learnt later, been in charge of a big junction in the north, but apparently he had found the responsibility of the work rather too much for him, and he had experienced something in the nature of a nervous breakdown, and had at his own request been transferred to this little backwater of a place, where he seemed quite happy and content in the quiet and tranquillity that lay between the country and the sea.

  “Though if Mrs. Cooper has her way,” he remarked after he and Bobby had been chatting a few moments, “it won’t be quiet much longer.”

  Odd, Bobby thought, how almost any conversation turned sooner or later on something Mrs. Cooper had said or thought or done. It was a striking tribute to the force of her dominating personality. The station-master and Mrs. Cooper and her husband had grown quite friendly, it seemed, often exchanging visits, and lately she had been somewhat disturbing the poor man by holding forth on the undeserved neglect in which this lovely corner of the coast had so long lain. That had been understandable, she thought, while the only access to it had been by a branch line on which few trains ran, but now, with the coming of the motor-coach, all that was altered. A district offering such facilities for all sea sports, as well as for golf and for field sports, was, according to her, a perfect gold-mine waiting for anyone with sufficient intelligence, character, and energy to develop it. “Winter sports” was a slogan, she ar
gued, that drew thousands to Switzerland every year. “Sea sports” was, she declared, another slogan that could draw even more to this spot, once it was scientifically organised and developed.

  “She says,” remarked the station-master, half smiling, half worried, “that a good thing’s no good without a good slogan, and a good slogan is only wasted without a good thing behind it, but with the two together you can sweep the world, she says; and she would too, if she had the chance.” A touch of enthusiasm had come into his voice, as if he had been affected by the vision she had shown him. Then he stopped, and laughed in a shame-faced sort of way. “I told her,” he said, “if that ever began to happen here, I should have to apply for another transfer. Only, as she says herself, it never will; not yet, anyhow.”

  “I suppose the idea is to make a new Blackpool or Margate,” Bobby remarked.

  “Well, I think her idea was more to attract better-class people,” the station-master explained; “not the real tip-toppers, because there aren’t enough of them, but the people who are just smart enough to want to be a bit more smart than their neighbours.”

  Bobby reflected that Mrs. Cooper seemed to know a good deal about human nature, and then, to explain his visit, went on to inquire about the times of the trains and the connections with the London expresses, and also as to the cost of sending back his motor-cycle by goods train.

  “I rode down yesterday,” he explained. “I managed to miss the train I meant to take, and I thought the next would get me here too late, though if I had known Miss Raby was coming by it I would have waited.”