by Miles Burton
Merrion laughed cheerfully. “Sorry, old man, but I had to act on my own, you know. Your letter wasn’t very explicit. You hinted that there was something queer about this place and, when I found, unexpectedly, that I knew one of the natives, it struck me that lunching with him would be a heaven-sent opportunity for getting the hang of things. I’m quite ready to exchange notes with you now. But where? Not in this pub, I suppose.”
“You put your car into the yard, didn’t you? Well, get it out, and we’ll drive along the road till we find a quiet spot where we can’t be overheard.”
Merrion agreed to this. Three or four miles from the Rose and Crown they found a spot where the car could be drawn up on the grass by the side of the road. There, seated in the car, they discussed the matter that had urged the Inspector to summon Merrion to his aid.
“You’d better let me tell my story first,” said Merrion, as he lighted a large pipe. “I gathered the bones of your trouble from the evidence at the inquest, but you don’t know the link between me and Hollesley. I met him first during the war, when he was commanding a motor launch. We all thought him rather a queer chap in those days, but it’s difficult to explain exactly why. He was quite good at his job, brave, daring, resourceful, all the rest of it, but there were times when he seemed to be unable to control his actions. It wasn’t drink, I’m pretty certain of that, for nobody ever saw him touch more than a couple of whiskies in a day. His conduct at lunch just now bears that out. He drank nothing more than one glass of Burgundy.
“I’ll give you an instance of what I mean. One night his craft was sent out of Dover on some work or other, I don’t remember what it was. It was a beautiful night, full moon, almost as bright as day. Hollesley, as I was told afterwards, was in a curiously exalted state, do or die, and all that sort of thing. Somewhere in midchannel he swore that he had sighted a German submarine, and worked himself up to a fearful state of excitement. He took the wheel, and went full speed for this blessed submarine of his. The rest of the ship’s company very soon saw what it was; one of the buoys connected with the barrage. But Hollesley wouldn’t listen to them and kept on straight for it, swearing he was going to ram it. At the very last moment his petty officer or somebody snatched the wheel from him and put it hard over. Lucky thing for Hollesley, for if he’d hit the buoy he’d have crumpled up his M.L. like a box of matches.
“Hollesley flew into a terrible rage, and put the man under arrest. When they got back to Dover, there was a deuce of a row, as you might suppose. However, it was smoothed over in some way, and a little time later Hollesley was sent to another station. I never saw or heard of him again until this morning.”
“I see,” remarked Young. “And what did you make of him this time?”
“Oh, he seemed pretty normal,” replied Merrion. “We spent a good part of our time chatting about old times, but at last I managed to switch him on to the present. Naturally, he wanted to know what I was doing at that infernal inquest of yours. I made up a yarn for his benefit; told him that I was on my way from Hunstanton to Gippingford, and had chosen this way so as to avoid the traffic on the main road. I had been looking out for somewhere to stop and have a drink, and seeing half a dozen cars outside the Rose and Crown, stopped there, thinking it was probably a suitable place. Hearing that an inquest was going on, I looked in out of sheer curiosity. That’s why I tried to look as if I didn’t know you when Hollesley and I left the room.”
“You succeeded, all right. Did you happen to learn anything about the people hereabouts?”
“Quite a lot, but I don’t know whether any of it will interest you. Elder House is not a very big place, but distinctly comfortable and very efficiently run. The family consists of Hollesley and his mother, who is an invalid and did not appear. There must be a very capable cook, judging by the lunch, but the only one of the servants I saw was the butler, big chap, middle-aged, with a perfect butler’s manner. Hollesley happened to mention that he hadn’t been with him long.
“I gathered that the nearest neighbours were Sir William Owerton and his daughter. I had noticed them at the inquest, and it struck me then that Miss Owerton wasn’t the sort of girl that one expects to find in a place like this. Owerton, it seems, spends most of his time in his library, which, according to Hollesley, is full of rare books. Miss Owerton spends most of her time out of doors. She’s fond of every kind of sport, and keeps a sailing dinghy in the river. She’s expecting one of those speed-boat things every day, Hollesley said. By the way, once he had got on to the subject of Mavis Owerton, it was pretty difficult to ride him off it again. I fancy that he has every intention of persuading her to abandon the Hall in favour of Elder House.”
“That certainly seems to be the opinion locally. Hollesley didn’t mention Doctor Padfield by any chance, did he?”
“The village medico, who gave evidence at the inquest? Yes, he told me that he was attending his mother, and that he had great faith in him. A very capable man, he said, who might have done great things if he had consented to leave his native village. But it seems that he isn’t ambitious, and has enough to live comfortably, apart from his practice. The village people like him well enough, though he is apt to be a bit off-hand in his manner. I noticed that for myself when he was giving his evidence.”
“Off-hand is rather a mild word, judging by what Viney told me of his behaviour on Friday night. Did Hollesley say anything else about the village or its inhabitants?”
“Nothing very definite. I gathered that they were all a happy family, and got on very well without bothering much about the rest of the world. My perceptions may be a bit insensitive, but I didn’t detect any trace of that mystery at which your letter hinted.”
“You wouldn’t, at Elder House. It’s in the village itself that it exists, if it exists at all outside my own imagination. I’ve thought, since I wrote that letter, that I should find it impossible to explain, even when I saw you. But I’ll try, confining myself to bare facts and leaving you to draw the inferences. In the first place, there is no doubt that High Eldersham doesn’t favour strangers. I know that very few English villages do, especially in this part of the country. But the antipathy to strangers is more highly developed here than anywhere else that I have heard of. I don’t mean that the inhabitants throw stones through their windows, or manifest their hostility in any way. They don’t, you’ll find them as polite and well behaved as you could want. But strangers, as Viney, the local cop, puts it, just don’t prosper in High Eldersham. He told me a couple of very curious incidents, which I will repeat to you later, both of which occurred under his own eyes. Of course, Viney’s intelligence isn’t of the highest order, and I confess that I was inclined to smile at his stories when I first heard them. It is only since something utterly bizarre came under my own observation that I have wondered whether there could not possibly be some queer influence acting against strangers in this place. And yet it seems so utterly fantastic—”
“Upon my word, Young, you’ve found the secret of arousing my curiosity. You haven’t been going in for spiritualism lately, have you? You’re talking more like a member of the Society for Psychical Research than a mere flat-footed tec. Can’t you be a little more explicit? What was it that came under your own observation and started you off in this fanciful vein?”
“That I’m not going to tell you. I want you to approach this problem with an absolutely open mind. A little later on you shall have the chance of seeing what I saw. If you see nothing out of the ordinary in it, I am willing to confess I am suffering from hallucinations, and you shall go back to London. On the other hand, if it seems to you as remarkable as it does to me, you shall stay in the neighbourhood. You’ll have to put up at Gippingford. For one thing, there’s no decent accommodation any nearer, and for another I don’t want you to be seen hanging about here too much. Strangers about here are too rare to escape notice. Is that a bargain?”
“Well, I suppose so. If this
mystery you hint at appeals to me with half the force that it appeals to you, I shan’t want to leave it till we’ve got to the bottom of it. When is the trial of my observation to be made?”
“Very shortly. But first of all I want to give you an idea of what I’m driving at. It very soon became clear to me that there is a pretty general impression in this part of the world that there is something queer about High Eldersham. What it is, what the queerness consists of, nobody can tell me. It just isn’t definable. Even the Chief Constable, a retired soldier and a very decent old stick, hinted at it ten minutes after I first met him. I got the impression that he wouldn’t be surprised at anything that might happen at High Eldersham. It also struck me that he lost no time in calling in the aid of the Yard, as though he knew that the murder of Whitehead would provide a problem quite beyond the power of his own people to deal with.”
“That reminds me that this murder, which is presumably the only reason for your presence here, is the one thing we have not yet discussed.”
“I know. The reason why I haven’t told you more about the murder is because I believe the problem can only be approached through a study of the peculiarities of High Eldersham.”
“Oh, dash it all, man! Your conversation has been pretty obscure, you’ll admit, but, if I understand you right, this is what you are trying to make me believe. You suspect some mysterious influence in this village inimical to strangers, and it is your theory that this influence, or some manifestation of it, drove a butcher’s knife into the vitals of an unfortunate and inoffensive publican. And that sort of thing is really outside the realm of ordinary terrestrial detection.”
Young smiled at his friend’s bantering tone. “Go on,” he said. “This is just what I expected. I am a lunatic, I know, wholly unfitted for the duties which I am expected to perform. Never mind, bear with me as patiently as you can. I want to tell you Viney’s stories about the experiences of other strangers in this village.”
Merrion listened attentively. “Curious!” was his comment when Young had finished. “But I think that the psychology of the situation is fairly easy to analyse. Here are two cases where strangers settling here have failed to succeed in their businesses, owing to circumstances beyond human control. The locals, constitutionally antagonistic to strangers, persuade themselves that what happened in two cases must be instances of the operation of a universal law. Hence the origin of the legend that disaster must always overtake strangers in High Eldersham. Isn’t that the rational way of looking at it?”
“I don’t know. I thought so at first, myself. Now, that’s all I’ve got to tell you. There’s nothing in the actual murder but what you heard at the inquest. The story of the sleuth whose brilliant researches led to the discovery of the brutal assassination of the pig I’ll tell you as we go back. You’ll find it amusing, I suppose. If you’ll start up this perambulating hen-coop of yours and drive me back to the pub, I’ll take you for a little walk down the village. I needn’t warn you, if you see anything that astonishes you, don’t let your expression betray you.”
They drove back to the Rose and Crown, and Merrion put his car into the yard once more. The Inspector went into the house and after a few words with Viney, joined Merrion outside. The two walked slowly down towards the village, which had resumed its normal aspect. They had got as far as Portch’s cottage when the Inspector stopped. “I’ve got to go in here for a minute,” he said. “You may as well come in with me.”
They knocked at the door, and Mrs. Portch appeared. She had evidently resigned herself to the inevitable, and made no difficulty about admitting them. The Inspector cast a swift glance round the kitchen, and saw with inward satisfaction that nothing in it had been moved since his last visit.
“I’ve brought you back your knife, Mrs. Portch,” he said. “I hope this incident will be a warning to you to tell the truth to the police in future. Your husband had a very narrow escape from being arrested on suspicion of being concerned in the murder of Mr. Whitehead. I do not know what view the magistrates will take of the offence of slaughtering a pig in an unlicensed place, I am sure. Perhaps, if you were to show me where the pig was killed, I could put in a word.”
“It’s a sight cleaner than some of they slaughter houses there are about, sir,” replied Mrs. Portch indignantly. “I scrubbed it out myself, top and bottom, that very afternoon. If you care to come through to the back, sir, you can see for yourself.”
She led the way out of the back door, and the Inspector followed her, leaving Merrion alone in the kitchen.
A few minutes later the Inspector returned, and the two men left the cottage together. They pursued their way in silence until they reached the river, a sluggish stream about fifty yards wide, running between banks of mud. The village street ended in a miniature quay, which at this time of day was completely deserted.
Merrion strode to the edge of the quay, and stood for many minutes staring down at the water beneath him. Then suddenly he turned, almost petulantly, and faced the Inspector. “You’re quite right, Young,” he said. “The thing’s absurd, incredible, impossible, anything that you like to call it. But still, it’s there, and I’m damned if I know how on earth to tackle it. Did you happen to notice the moon last night?”
“No, I can’t say that I did,” replied the Inspector gravely. “Although lunatics are supposed to, I believe.”
“We could tell if we knew the tidal establishment of the place. It seems to be dead low water now. Failing that, we’ll have to borrow a calendar from somewhere.”
“I’ve got one in my pocket. What do you want to know?”
“I want to know the date of the next full moon.”
The Inspector took out a pocket diary and turned over the pages. “April 8th. That’s Saturday next,” he said.
Merrion nodded, but said nothing. They turned away, and walked back in silence towards the Rose and Crown. It was not until they had nearly reached the inn that either spoke. Then Merrion broke the silence abruptly. “You guessed what was written on that piece of tape, I suppose?”
The Inspector shook his head. “I haven’t dared,” he replied. “This business is dark enough without any guessing.”
“Well, it was ‘Sam Whitehead,’ if you care to know,” said Merrion.
Chapter VIII
By a common impulse Merrion and the Inspector turned away from the Rose and Crown when they reached the old coach road, and walked slowly on. “There are too many people about the inn to make it possible to talk quietly there,” said Young. “The open road is much safer. Well, old man, what am I to do now?”
“I can’t advise you, yet,” replied Merrion slowly. “I shall have to go back to London for a couple of days and study the subject. I’m familiar enough with the general lines, but I’m a bit rusty as to detail, and if we’re to trace this thing to its source, we shall have to have every detail at our finger ends. That’s as much as I can say at present.”
“I gather from your attitude that you are satisfied that there can be no mistake?”
“Absolutely. You gave me no hint as to what I was to look for, and I spotted the doll right away. Mommet is the correct word, I believe. From what I could see in my very hasty examination, the traditional ritual had been very closely followed. The doll had been moulded in wax, the sort of wax that is used for church candles, I should say. Pretty roughly moulded too, obviously by some one not exactly an expert in the plastic arts. Again, the needle had been driven into the figure, about where the heart would be, when it was hot. There were traces of the wax having been melted round it, and the needle itself was black where it had been in the flame. Finally, there was the piece of tape—certainly an improvement on the traditional paper—with the victim’s name written on it and threaded through the eye. No, there’s no room for doubt. It certainly is one of the most amazing things I ever came across. But what puzzles me, if you don’t mind my saying so, is how you guessed th
e significance of this doll.”
“Give me credit for a few scattered crumbs of general knowledge,” replied Young, with a smile. “I’ve read my Ingoldsby Legends, for one thing. And, for another, cases of dolls being baptised with the name of a destined victim are not unheard of, even in these degenerate days. There was a case near Langport, in Somerset, in 1929.”
“Yes, very possibly. These cases do crop up from time to time, especially where tradition has lingered in remote country places. But I have never before heard of an authenticated instance where the baptism of the doll was followed by the death by violence of the victim. I say, Young, it gives one furiously to think. Does the witch-cult still survive in High Eldersham? Were the misfortunes which overtook those two strangers you told me about consequent upon unholy incantations? And, if so, what on earth or in hell are we up against?”
“Nothing that a mere policeman can be expected to unravel. That’s why I asked you to come down. Mind you, I’m not suggesting that Whitehead’s death was due to occult forces, that he was stabbed by some supernatural hand, or anything like that. But I do believe that his murder is in some way connected with the existence of that doll. I believe the doll to be the clue, not only to this murder, but to all the queer and inexplicable happenings in High Eldersham.”
“I think you are very probably right. The best way that I can help you, as I say, is to go back home for a couple of days and spend every minute of my time reading up every available book on the subject. Meanwhile, you must say or do nothing that could possibly reveal your suspicions. If I’m not mistaken, that doll still has a part to play, and if the people concerned are not alarmed, we may learn a good deal by waiting. In any case, I don’t think anything is likely to happen before Saturday night.”