Shots are not rare in country districts. But the hour was late, and Constable Reed had felt it his duty to investigate. As he found nothing in any way suspicious, and neither saw nor heard anything further, he would probably not have troubled to report the incident had not Major Hardman shown a certain uneasiness about a young nephew of his who had recently appeared in the neighbourhood on his discharge from the army as medically unfit.
The young man was, it seemed, not much approved of either by his uncle or by his sister, Miss Frances Hardman, who kept house for the Major. This unpopularity with his relatives seemed to have some justification, for already he had created a disturbance at the nearby Horse and Groom, wherefrom it had been necessary to eject him with some vigour. Why Major Hardman associated his young nephew with the shot heard did not appear, except for a vague reference by Reed in the course of his report to ‘threatening language’, though by whom or against whom was not very clear.
“Nothing to take action on,” Payne had decided, and Bobby agreed.
“Who is Major Hardman?” he asked idly.
“Retired business man from London,” Payne explained. “Came up here to be out of the way of the bombing—not so much out of the way either, but that was the idea. Lives in a fair-sized house, The Tulips, between Lonesome village and the forest. Wears an Old Etonian tie, and is over fifty, so is exempt from national service. Bad health, too. Does fire-watching, though. Reed reports he is a quiet, pleasant-spoken gentleman, keeps very much to himself. The niece keeps house for him. She has registered, of course, but has not been directed to any employment, as she has to look after an elderly uncle in poor health, and, anyhow, does a lot for the W.V.S. The young man thrown out of the Horse and Groom is her twin, and it seems they are as like as two peas. Only for the young lady having a permanent wave and the boy a smudge of a moustache, Reed says you would never be able to tell one from t’other.”
“Couldn’t you, though?” asked Bobby thoughtfully.
“Oh, it’s the way with twins sometimes,” Payne explained, a little proud of his knowledge. “Depends on which they are. I mean, if they were always meant to be two, then they are just ordinary brother and sister, and no more like each other than any other brother and sister. If they were meant to be one and then somehow split up to make two, then they are always dead spits of each other.”
“I see,” said Bobby, still more thoughtfully, trying to remember what he had once read about twins. “Yes, I have an idea I read about all that somewhere. Well, anyhow, nothing to bother about, unless the young man starts trouble.”
Therewith Bobby departed to get his lunch at the Midwych Union, a club to which most of the Midwych celebrities belonged, and whereto his recent promotion to Deputy Chief Constable had secured his election. Returning after one of those meals of deadly monotony over which heart-broken chefs weep daily wartime tears, Bobby, entering headquarters, met Payne bustling out. Payne stopped to speak.
“Reed has just ’phoned in,” he said. “I asked his sergeant to find out what was the threatening language used at the Horse and Groom. It seems the young man’s uncle—Major Hardman—gave him a five-pound note, and told him he wouldn’t get another farthing till he found himself a decent job, preferably as far away from Midwych as possible. At the Horse and Groom they say the language he used about the Major fair blistered the paint—and that’s a bit of a tribute from the Horse and Groom, where they know quite a lot of language. Reed was sufficiently impressed to have a look along the footpath that’s a short cut starting from near the ’bus stop on the main road and then through Wychwood forest to Lonesome. It saves a lot. Comes out by the new bungalows there.”
“Find anything?” Bobby asked.
“He found a cartridge recently fired from a point three two automatic. A lady’s shoe, size four, and a good deal worn. And a five-pound note, identified by Major Hardman by the number as the one he gave his nephew. You remember there was heavy rain later in the night till well on in the morning, so there was no chance of finding footsteps or anything like that.”
“An odd assortment,” Bobby said, “a very odd assortment. Have to wait and see if there are any developments, I suppose.”
Payne agreed, and went off on his errand, while Bobby continued on his way to his room on the first floor.
Published by Dean Street Press 2016
Copyright © 1944 E.R. Punshon
Introduction Copyright © 2016 Curtis Evans
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is published by licence, issued under the UK Orphan Works Licensing Scheme.
First published in 1944 by Victor Gollancz
Cover by DSP
ISBN 978 1 911413 40 0
www.deanstreetpress.co.uk
Secrets Can't be Kept: A Bobby Owen Mystery Page 25