Inspector French and the Starvel Tragedy

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  It was with shining eyes and heightened colour that, half an hour later, Ruth Averill sat in the corner of a third-class compartment, while the train moved out of Thirsby. That Whymper loved her she was now positive. It was true that he had not actually spoken of love, but his every word and look proclaimed his feelings. He had, moreover, insisted on telling her about his family and his position and prospects—a good sign. As to her own feelings, she was no longer in any doubt whatever. She loved him, and in loving him the grey clouds that pressed down upon her life seemed to break and the rosy light of hope to pour in through the rift.

  She duly reached York and found Mrs. Palmer-Gore waiting for her on the platform. With her for two days she spent a pleasant holiday, enjoying the unwonted good-fellowship. The visit was to have lasted a week, but on the afternoon of the second day there fell the first of the several blows that she was to experience, and her stay was brought to an abrupt termination.

  They had just sat down to lunch when a telegram was handed to her. It was the first she had ever received. Excited and a trifle embarrassed, she hesitated to open it.

  But when in answer to Mrs. Palmer-Gore’s kindly: “Read it, dear. Don’t mind us,” she learned its contents, all thought of herself was swept from her mind.

  It was signed “Oxley,” though whether it came from the solicitor or his wife she could not tell. It read: “Terrible accident at Starvel. Your uncle injured. Return Thirsby and stay night with us.”

  It was characteristic of the girl that her thoughts and feelings were all for old Simon Averill. Was the poor old man badly injured? Was he suffering? Could she do anything to help him? It was kind of the Oxleys to ask her to stay the night, but of course she could not do so. She must go out to Starvel and help with the nursing. Not one thought of the possible effect on herself of the disaster entered her mind. That the old man might die of his injuries and that she might be his heir never occurred to her. Nor did she repine at the cutting short of her first real and altogether wonderful holiday.

  By Mrs. Palmer-Gore’s advice she wired to the Oxleys that she would be with them at 5.40, and after a hurried lunch she found herself once more in the train. During the journey she had time to ponder over her news. A “terrible accident” at Starvel! What could have happened? It must surely be bad or that ominous word “terrible” would not have been used. She began to invent possibilities. Had her uncle taken the wrong medicine, perhaps some awful burning stuff that would hurt him horribly? Or had he fallen downstairs or into the fire? Or cut himself and been unable to summon help?

  She gave full rein to her imagination, but when she learned the truth she found it vastly more terrible than anything she had thought of. The Oxleys met her at the station, and having driven her to their home, broke the news.

  It seemed that when about eleven o’clock that morning the baker was approaching Starvel to make his customary Thursday call, he had noticed a faint pall of smoke hanging in the sky above the hollow. On crossing the shoulder he had glanced down as usual into the curious circular dell, and had instantly been overwhelmed with incredulous amazement. There were the trees, the thin, stunted pines which surrounded the old house, but—the house was gone! The long line of slated roof which had stood out above the trees had absolutely vanished. No trace remained. At first sight the man thought that the entire building had disappeared, but a closer approach revealed blackened windowless walls surrounding a still smouldering interior, all that remained of the old place.

  No sign of life appeared about the ruins, and the horror-stricken man was forced to the conclusion that all three occupants had lost their lives in the flames.

  He drove hurriedly into Thirsby and gave the alarm, and soon Sergeant Kent of the local police force with some of his men, Dr. Emerson, Mr. Oxley and a number of others were hastening to the scene. They found matters as the baker had described, the smouldering ruins standing gaunt and sinister at the bottom of the dell, lonely and deserted, hidden from the surrounding country by the rim of the strange natural Hollow.

  The fire had evidently raged with extraordinary fury. With the exception of an outhouse separate from the main building not a scrap of anything inflammable remained. Floors, roof, staircase, window sashes, all were gone. And in that glowing mass of red-hot debris within the blackened and twisted walls lay, almost certainly, the bodies of Simon Averill and of John and Flora Roper.

  Anxious that Ruth should not have to learn the terrible news from the papers, Mr. Oxley had returned to Thirsby and sent his wire. He had thought it best to make this only a preparation, intending that the full story should be broken more gently on the girl’s arrival.

  Ruth was terribly shocked and upset. It was the first time, since reaching years of discretion, that she had been brought in contact with tragedy and death, and she was appalled by its horror. She begged to be allowed to go out to Starvel, but neither of the Oxleys would hear of it, pointing out that a visit would only harrow her feelings, and that she could do nothing there to help.

  As the long evening dragged away she found herself hoping against hope that Whymper would call. But there was no sign of him and she supposed he had not heard of her return.

  Sergeant Kent, however, had heard of it, and about eight o’clock he called and asked to see her. He was, a tall, rather brusque man, though in Oxley’s presence he was polite enough. He questioned her as to the household and its personnel, but she had nothing to tell him which could throw any light on the tragedy.

  The next day it was found possible to attempt some research work among the ruins, and by ten o’clock a number of men were engaged in removing the cooler portions of the debris. Ruth insisted that she must see the place for herself, and the Oxleys, not liking to let her go alone, drove her out in their car. But the terrible picture which met her eyes and the thought of what lay below the sinister mound where the men were working made her feel almost sick with horror. Her feelings, too, had changed. Gone was her hatred of the place, and particularly of the three poor people who had met with such an appalling fate. She felt she had been wicked to hate them. Her uncle had been a recluse and fond of money, no doubt. But in his own way he had always been kind to her. He had opened his door to her when she was a homeless child, and had since supported her without grudging the money she must have cost him. And he had been ill—continuously ill; and when people are ill they cannot help being depressed and a little trying to others. And the Ropers, had she not misjudged them also? In their own way, they, too, had always been kind to her. For the first time Ruth saw that the lives of the couple must have been as dull and grey as her own. Though their jobs were underpaid, and rather thankless, they had not complained. And she, Ruth, had never shown an appreciation of their services. She saw now that she had really had no reason at all for hating them, and when she thought of their terrible death, her tears flowed. In silence she allowed Mrs. Oxley to lead her back to the car and drive her to Thirsby.

  On their way to the little town the second blow fell on the young girl, and coming so quickly on the first, left her weak and trembling. As they mounted the rim of the Hollow they saw a funeral approaching along a converging road. It was a sorry procession; only the hearse, and the vicar and Dr. Emerson in the former’s car. As the two ladies drew up for it to pass, the vicar also stopped, and he and the doctor came over to express their sympathy with Ruth.

  “You will be sorry for poor Mr. Giles, also, Miss Ruth,” the vicar went on. “I understood you were kind enough to help him in his scientific researches.”

  Ruth stared at him in horror.

  “You don’t mean,” she stammered, “that Mr. Giles is—is dead?”

  “Yes, indeed; he died on Tuesday, I’m sorry to say. After a short illness he passed away in his sleep. He had no suffering. But, only thirty-six! Truly, another tragedy of the war.”

  Ruth was stunned. Markham Giles, also! To lose at one blow all four persons whom she had known best—the only four persons in the world she had known at all well
! It was too much

  She pulled herself together, however, and insisted on following her friend’s body to its last resting-place, but when she reached the Oxleys’ house she broke down altogether. Mrs. Oxley put her to bed and at last she sobbed herself to sleep.

  That evening the charred remains of three human bodies were found within the tragic walls of Starvel.

  CHAPTER II

  THE INQUEST

  When Ruth Averill awoke next morning she found that the overwhelming sense of sick horror which had weighed her down on the previous evening had lightened. She had been worn out in body from the shock and the nervous strain, but sleep had restored her physical well-being, and her mind reacted to her body. She was young, she was in perfect health, and—she was in love.

  While her feeling of compassion for the trio who had lost their lives in so terrible a way was in no whit lessened, she would have been less than human had she not begun to look upon the tragedy as it affected herself. And here at once was something exciting and a little terrifying. What would happen to her now? She had hated her life at Starvel; would the life that lay before her be better or worse? Scarcely worse, she thought; any change must be surely be for the better. She had intended while at York to make some inquiries about earning her own living so that she might leave Starvel. Now this was no longer a matter of choice; in some way she must learn to support herself. Vaguely she wondered if any of her uncle’s money would come to her. But she dismissed the idea as too good to be true. Perhaps with luck there might be enough to keep her until she could train for some post, but even about this she could not be certain. However, Mr. Oxley was kind and clever. She need not worry overmuch. He would advise her.

  While making up her mind to rise and face what the day might bring forth, Ruth was greatly comforted by a visit from Mrs. Oxley. That lady presently knocked to inquire if her charge were awake, and she was so kind and understanding and kissed her in such a motherly way that Ruth felt a glow of warmth in her heart. Mrs. Oxley brought with her a tiny tray with the daintiest little tea service and the thinnest of bread and butter, and while Ruth enjoyed this unheard-of luxury the elder woman sat on the bed and proceeded to feed the girl’s mind with healing news. She mentioned, casually and yet with such a wealth of detail, that Mr. Whymper had called on the previous evening to inquire for Miss Averill. With really praiseworthy ingenuity she spun out the subject for nearly ten minutes, then she went on to tell something of almost—though, of course, not quite—equal importance. Mr. Oxley had wished her to say, in the strictest confidence—no one at this stage was supposed to know anything about it—but in order to relieve Ruth’s mind he thought he might tell her—that she was not to worry as to her future. He had drawn up old Mr. Averill’s will and there would be some money. Mr. Oxley had not said how much, but Mrs. Oxley was sure there would be enough. At all events Ruth was not to worry. And now breakfast would be ready in half an hour and there was plenty of hot water in the bathroom.

  During the morning Ruth went down into the little town and engaged in the melancholy business of buying mourning. Mr. Oxley had lent her twenty pounds, explaining that she could repay him when she got her own money. This prospect of money coming to her made Ruth feel excited and important, and she could not refrain from day-dreaming about all the wonderful things she would do when she received it. It was well for her indeed that she had something so absorbing to take her mind off the ghastliness of the tragedy which surrounded her. In fact, if only Pierce Whymper had come to see her again she would have been really happy. But, as she afterwards learned, the young architect was out of town on business all that morning.

  During Sergeant Kent’s call on the evening after the tragedy he had warned Ruth that she would be required to give evidence at the inquest. Now he came round to say that this was to be held in the courthouse at three o’clock that afternoon, and that she must be sure to be there in good time. The girl was naturally nervous at the prospect of giving evidence, which she had always heard was a terrible ordeal. But Mrs. Oxley reassured her in her kindly way, explaining that she had nothing to do but answer the questions she was asked, and promising that Mr. Oxley would see that nothing untoward befell her.

  Shortly before the hour, therefore, the little party approached the courthouse. The building was already crowded, but Mr. Oxley’s position as the leading solicitor of the town and Ruth’s as one of the most important witnesses procured them an immediate entrance and places on the seats usually reserved for counsel. As Ruth looked round the small, old-fashioned building she saw many familiar faces. There, surrounded by police-men and looking weighed down with importance and responsibility, was Sergeant Kent. He was moving restlessly about, whispering to various persons and consulting at times a sheaf of papers he held in his hand. Some of the policemen she recognised also. There was the young smiling one with the light blue eyes whom she had met so many times when shopping in the town, and his companion with the long, drooping nose and the hollow cheeks. In the seat behind was Mr. Snelgrove, the butcher, and Mr. Pullar, of the shoe-shop. That tall, very thin man with the little moustache and the bald head was Mr. Tarkington, the bank manager, and the slight, medium-sized man beside him was Mr. Bloxham, the clerk whom he used to send out to Starvel with Mr. Averill’s money. The venerable-looking old gentleman with the short white beard who was just pushing to the front was Dr. Emerson. And there-how could she have failed to see him before? —there, at the back of the court, was Pierce Whymper. He looked anxious and troubled, and though when she caught his eye and smiled, he smiled back, there was a something of embarrassment or reserve in his manner that seemed to her strange and disquieting. And just beside him—but a sudden shuffle took place about her, and looking in front of her she saw that a stout, thickset man with a square face and a walrus moustache had entered from some invisible side door and was taking his seat in the judge’s chair.

  “Dr. Lonsdale, the coroner,” Mrs. Oxley whispered, and Ruth nodded. She was surprised to find that the affair began so tamely. She had expected an elaborate and picturesque ritual, but nothing of the kind took place. The coroner opened his bag, and taking out some papers, began to turn them over. Other persons sitting round the table before her also took out papers and shuffled them, while Sergeant Kent, turning round, shouted out “Robert Judd!” so suddenly and loudly that Ruth jumped. Someone at the back of the court answered “Here!” and was promptly ordered to come forward and enter the jury box. Other names were called—to some of which there was no reply—until all the places in the box were occupied. Then all stood up and stared vacantly at Kent while he murmured something about “justly try and true deliverance make,” after which every one sat down again.

  “Have the jury viewed the remains?” asked the coroner, and Kent, answering, “They’re going to do it now, sir,” shepherded his charges out of the box and away through a door just behind it. Everyone began conversing in low tones except the coroner, who kept on steadily writing. Presently the jury trooped in again and the proceedings began in real earnest.

  “Call Peter Spence!” Sergeant Kent shouted.

  “Peter Spence!” repeated two or three policemen, and a stout, red-faced man pushed to the front, and entering the witness-box, was sworn.

  Spence told his story in great detail. In answer to the sergeant’s questions he explained that he drove a bread-cart belonging to Messrs. Hinkston of Thirsby, and that for over twelve years he had, three times a week, delivered bread at Starvel. He remembered the day before yesterday. On that day, about eleven in the morning, when he was approaching Starvel to deliver bread, he had observed a cloud of smoke in the sky. On crossing the lip of the Hollow he happened to look down at the house. He was amazed to notice that the roof, which formerly showed up above the surrounding trees, had totally disappeared. He drove on quickly to the place, and then he saw that the house had been burnt down. Only the walls were standing. There was no one about. He hurried into Thirsby, and reported the matter to Sergeant Kent.

>   Simple as these facts were, their recital was a lengthy business. After each question a pause ensued while the coroner wrote a précis of the man’s reply. Finally Dr. Lonsdale, after vainly inviting the jury to ask the witness any questions, read over what he had written. Peter Spence, having agreed that it was a correct transcript of his evidence, was asked to sign the document, and then allowed to step down.

  The next witness was a lugubrious-looking man in grey tweeds. He deposed that his name was Abel Hesketh, and that he was Town Officer of Thirsby. He also acted as chief of the fire brigade. On the Thursday in question he received a telephone message from Sergeant Kent informing him that Starvel had been burnt down. He inquired if he should get the brigade out, but the sergeant answered that it would be of no use, the damage being already done. Sergeant Kent asked him to go with him to see the place. He did so, and he would describe what he saw. The entire buildings at Starvel were gutted except a detached outhouse at the opposite side of the yard. He had never seen such complete destruction. Nothing that could be burnt was left. Between the walls the debris was still a red-hot glowing mass. In answer to the coroner he thought it quite impossible to say either where or how the fire had originated. There was no wind that night, and the outbreak, once started, would creep through the entire building.

  Hesketh went on to say that the very heavy rain which fell on the following night had cooled down the red-hot interior, enabling his men to search the ruins. They had come on the charred remains of three human beings. Yes, he could say just where the remains were found. The house was in the shape of the inverted letter “” with the shorter wing pointing to the west and the longer to the south. At the extremity of the shorter wing—in the north-western corner—were two bodies. The third body was about ten feet from the end of the southern wing. All the bodies were unrecognisable, but he assumed they were those of the three inmates of the house.