by Miles Burton
“By gad, Newport, that’s a beastly place!” he whispered. “All right, shove off. The ebb has begun to make.”
Chapter XVII
The journey back to the yacht was accomplished without adventure. It was past midnight when Merrion turned in, tired with his day’s work, and welcoming the gentle swell which rolled into the lagoon, causing Alisette to rock softly. No cradle seemed half so sleep-inducing as his bunk. Yet, after he had blown out the light, and lay in the utter darkness unrelieved by any sound save the soft splashing of the water against the little vessel’s side, he found that sleep had deserted him.
It was easy enough in the daytime, when there was plenty to distract his thoughts. Then he could put aside this strange new longing which had come to him. He could relegate it impatiently to the background, as a subject unworthy of serious consideration. But, in spite of his rebuffs, it had a habit of returning, and it seemed to-night that it was determined to take its revenge by a general assault upon his brain.
Well, he would retreat from his advanced position of denial, and meet the assault upon his own ground. He would admit in his own heart that he loved Mavis. It was ridiculous, of course, he had only spoken to the girl once. Still, there it was, he loved her. And this sort of love, he discovered with some surprise, was a new experience for him. What the devil did one do in such circumstances? Ask the girl to marry one? It seemed to be the natural thing, somehow. But how, when, and where? Was he to lie in this confounded river until she came past in that speed-boat of hers, and then bawl the question at her? If so, he would want a megaphone to make himself heard above the roar of the engine.
No, it wasn’t a bit of good fencing with the thing like that. It wasn’t the question of asking her that worried him. That moment was a long way off yet. The root of the matter was that he felt a vague and most uncomfortable anxiety on her account. There was a subtle horror about High Eldersham that was beginning to affect even his robust nerves. It was impossible to define it. The fact that a murder had been committed, and that the murderer was still at large, influenced it not at all. Murder seemed a clean and honest business compared with the gruesome fancies that his mind persisted in dwelling upon. That mysterious grove, hidden in the shade of the impenetrable trees, had reminded him of the hideous rites that accompanied the worship of Isis or of Ashtaroth.
It was no good to tell himself that such imaginings were ridiculous in England of the twentieth century. It was equally ridiculous to believe that the practice of witchcraft still continued. Yet he had seen the latter, almost with his own eyes. Even admitting that this practice had been continued, or more probably revived, for some obscure purpose, and not for the sake of the thing itself, it had still produced effects of which the immediate cause was unexplained. Was it, after all, a chapter of accidents that had driven those venturesome strangers from the village? Was it a coincidence that Whitehead, who had fallen under the ban of the coven, had been murdered by an unknown hand? And then there was Viney, whose sudden indisposition Doctor Padfield had apparently been unable to diagnose. Had this mysterious influence laid its finger upon him, too?
It might well be so, and there was no telling who might be the next victim. Suppose Mavis, for some incomprehensible reason, were to incur the displeasure of a member of the coven, of any of those taciturn folk who lived in the village. Would one of those repulsive dolls be moulded and baptised with her name? The thought was horrible to contemplate, and yet the one circumstance that might guarantee her safety was even more horrible. She would undoubtedly be safe if her father were implicated in these mysterious ceremonies. He, surely, would not allow his daughter to come to any harm.
To Merrion it seemed as though he were passing from one absurdity to another. What possible reason could a man like Sir William Owerton, a magistrate and a scholar, have for countenancing such senseless practices, or still more for taking part in them? Yet, on the other hand, somebody had organised them, and that somebody had an extensive knowledge of the cult. Who was there in the village who could have acquired such knowledge? Only Sir William, whose studies were admittedly in the direction of folklore and ancient superstitions. And if Sir William were indeed the president of the coven, the unpleasant corollary was that Mavis was the daughter of a devil.
These and similar thoughts tormented Merrion all the night through until at last, when the first light of dawn began to fill the cabin, he rose and went on deck. The lagoon was deserted, except for a few gulls circling round on the look out for scraps. The tide was beginning to make, and a series of little ripples were encroaching upon the distant grey patch that marked the position of Vane Sand. Merrion, leaning against the mast, watched until the patch disappeared altogether. His thoughts had flown back to Hollesley and his actions of the previous day. The man was engaged in smuggling, of that there could be no reasonable doubt. But what was he smuggling? The object that he had picked up had seemed through the telescope to be about the size of a petrol can, and disproportionately heavy for its size. And why on earth should Hollesley, a man of considerable means, as his method of living showed, go to such pains to defraud the customs of an insignificant duty?
“Just to be in the fashion, I suppose,” muttered Merrion. “Everybody in this infernal place seems to be engaged in some nefarious business or other. I’m dashed if I can understand it, unless they’re all mad together. Good lord, I wish Mavis would clear out and go and live in London like a reasonable girl—Hallo, Newport, rising like Aphrodite to greet the dawn, what?”
A tousled head had appeared through the first hatch, to be followed by the rubicund and essentially sane countenance of Newport. “I heard you about on deck, sir, and wondered if there was anything you wanted,” he said respectfully.
“I want a whole lot of things, most of which I’m afraid you can’t provide,” replied Merrion oracularly. “But there’s one of them you might get busy about. Put a kettle on and let’s have a cup of tea, there’s a good chap.”
Newport’s head disappeared once more, and Merrion’s thoughts returned to their former channel. But suddenly he started and gazed eagerly up the river. A faint purring sound had reached him from the distance, which, as he listened, resolved itself into a steady roar, rapidly approaching. For a moment he stood rigid, then, with a swift movement, leapt into the cabin and tore his field glasses from their case. Then, with nothing but his head appearing above the coaming, he stood and waited, his glasses trained upon the bend round which she must appear.
The roar grew more insistent, until it made itself heard in the forecastle, above the noise of the Primus stove. Newport, surprised at this unwonted disturbance, poked his head up once more through the hatch. Merrion turned sharply at the sound. “Get below, you fool!” he shouted. Then once more he turned his attention to the advancing boat.
It appeared, shrouded in a cloud of spray, steering straight for the entrance. It passed Alisette like a flash, a hundred yards distant. Merrion caught one glimpse of Mavis, and saw with a thrill of delight that she was alone. Then the speed-boat passed through the entrance. Had Mavis noticed the unfamiliar yacht lying in the usually deserted lagoon?
Merrion could not tell. The roar of the engine grew fainter in the distance, as the boat sped out to sea. For many minutes he listened eagerly wondering whether he would lose it altogether. Then, when it had almost faded away, it began slowly to swell again. She had merely been for a spin before breakfast and was coming back. Approaching the entrance he could see the spray, which the sun, now risen, converted into a sparkling shower of diamonds.
All at once, just as the boat entered the river, the note of the engine fell several tones, and the spray fell away, revealing the bright hull of the boat. She had slackened speed. Had she noticed Alisette, and was she coming to investigate? Merrion withdrew into the cabin, and took up his position at one of the port-holes. The speed-boat came straight towards the yacht, and Merrion realised that his heart was beating rapidly.
Would she stop and come alongside? It was part of his scheme that nobody at High Eldersham should know of his presence on the river, and if Mavis recognised him, that plan would have to be abandoned. Yet, on the other hand, he longed for one word with her, whatever that word might cost.
The speed-boat slowed down to the utmost, came up to the yacht and passed her within a few feet. Merrion, looking through the port-hole, could see Mavis plainly as she cast her eyes inquiringly over Alisette. Next to speaking to her, this was the best he could expect. He devoured her with his eyes, sternly repressing an almost irresistible longing to rush on deck and hail her. Then he saw her put her hand on the throttle. The speed-boat sprang into life and shot away. Within a few seconds she was lost beyond the bend of the river.
As the roar of the engine died away once more in the distance Newport put his head into the cabin. “Tea’s ready, sir,” he announced.
Merrion had arranged with Young that the latter should keep in touch with him by addressing letters to the Gippingford post office, for which he would call periodically. It struck him, as he ate his breakfast, that it would be as well to call there, in case anything should be awaiting him. There was a nice sailing breeze, and the simplest method of reaching Gippingford would be to go there in Alisette. Besides, it might attract undue attention if the yacht were to lie too long in the lagoon.
He therefore got under way, and after an uneventful voyage anchored in Gippingford harbour about noon. He went straight to the post office and there found a note from the Inspector. “I’ve no news. I seem to have come to a dead end as far as the Dunsford clue is concerned. Something must have gone wrong there, I feel sure. However, as a last resort, I mean to pay a visit to the Tower of London. I shall be there about four o’clock on the twenty-first, and if this reaches you in time, it might be as well if you could join me.”
The twenty-first. That was this very day. Well, that was easily arranged. Merrion returned to the yacht for lunch, and then, at about half-past three, landed once more and inquired his way to the Tower of London.
He found it in a quiet backwater just off the main street. He walked through the open door, and entered a room marked “Lounge.” A party of four, two men and two women, were having tea there, and from their appearance Merrion guessed that they had come from a large closed car which he had seen standing outside. It struck him as curious that such well-dressed and opulent-looking people should choose the Tower of London as a stopping place. It was not easy to find, and there were several more inviting places in the main street. However, perhaps the seclusion of the Tower of London attracted them. Not seeing the Inspector, he came out again.
Merrion stood for a moment at the door, looking up the street. A familiar figure was coming towards him, and he strolled along to meet it. “You’re punctual to the moment,” he said. “Are you coming in to have a cup of tea? I tell you, this pub is a lot posher inside than you would give it credit for.”
“So I’ve heard,” replied Young. “I’m glad you got my letter in time, I want to have a chat with you. Why, good lord, man, what the devil’s the matter?”
But his words were wasted. Merrion had passed swiftly through the door of a shop outside which they had been standing. It happened to be an ironmonger’s, and Young could see him gazing earnestly at a row of tin kettles alluringly displayed upon a shelf. Then the Inspector’s attention was attracted by a noise behind him. He turned to see a car pass slowly along the street and stop outside the Tower of London.
This not very extraordinary sight seemed to galvanise him into action. He stared after the car in amazement, then almost ran down the street on the opposite side. He was in time to see the driver of the car, who was its sole occupant, descend leisurely from his seat and pass into the inn. When the man had disappeared he returned to the ironmongers, in time to meet Merrion, who emerged carrying an ungainly parcel wrapped up in brown paper.
“Newport said this morning that he wanted a new kettle,” he said unconcernedly. “Come on, let’s take it to him.”
“Damn your confounded kettle!” exclaimed Young irritably. “There’s a man just gone into the Tower of London whom I’m particularly anxious to have a closer look at.”
“There’s a man just passed in a car who I’m particularly anxious shouldn’t see me,” replied Merrion. “That’s why I bolted into the shop, in case he caught sight of me as he drove past. That’s the car standing outside the pub now.”
“What, do you mean to say you recognised the man too?” asked Young excitedly.
“Of course, I recognised him. I’ve seen quite a lot of him lately, one way and another. The last occasion was yesterday, when he and his employer went on an expedition to Vane Sand to look for cockles.”
Young looked at his friend as though he imagined he had taken leave of his senses. “I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about,” he said shortly. “You say you recognised the man. Do you know who he is, then?”
“My dear fellow, of course I know,” replied Merrion quietly. “I knew the car as soon as I caught sight of it. It belongs to my respected friend, Hollesley, and the man driving it is his butler and general confidant, Thorburn.”
Young laughed. “He’s a butler, all right, and Thorburn may be his name, but it’s not the one I knew him by,” he said. “Do you remember the Gregson trial, about ten years ago?”
“I can’t say that I do,” Merrion replied. “Why?”
“Wait a minute. At that time the police were puzzled by a series of robberies, jewels and so forth, at smart functions, weddings, dances and things like that. It was a long time before they were traced to a gang, which operated on a most ingenious scheme. They posed as the employees of a man who kept an agency which supplied waiters, butlers and so forth, who could be hired temporarily. The man’s name was Gregson. Sometimes he went to these functions himself, but more often he sent one of his men. Whoever went, laid their hands on something valuable, and passed it on to Gregson, who disposed of it. He did very well at the game until the police got on his track. And he very nearly got away with it too. It was by a sheer fluke that he was recognised and arrested by one of the police who was on duty at one of the functions where a string of pearls had been taken. I wasn’t in charge of the case, but I remember it well. The man got seven years.”
“Very properly, no doubt,” remarked Merrion. “But why these reminiscences?”
“Because the man who has just gone into the Tower of London is either Gregson or his double,” replied the Inspector.
Chapter XVIII
Merrion shrugged his shoulders wearily. “The man who went into the pub was Thorburn,” he said. “Of that I haven’t any doubt at all. But if Thorburn turns out to be the ingenious Gregson, I shan’t be in the least surprised. I’ve come to the conclusion that every male resident of High Eldersham specialises in some sort of crime, and it would be odd if Thorburn proved an exception to the rule. But what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not going to do anything,” replied Young. “Gregson has served his time and, so far as I am concerned, he is just an ordinary citizen. But I’d like to find out what his business is at the Tower of London.”
“A perfectly legitimate one, I have no doubt,” said Merrion. “As you may have noticed, the place has an off-licence. Hollesley must have known Dunsford when he kept the Rose and Crown, and I shouldn’t wonder if he continued to buy his wines and spirits from him, out of sentiment. But if you’re going in to see, I’m not. I don’t want it known in High Eldersham that I’m hanging round this part of the world. I’ll go down to the harbour, and you can meet me there. We’ll go off to Alisette and have a chat.”
Young nodded and walked towards the inn. Merrion strolled quietly down towards the harbour, reaching the dock in time to see La Lys leaving the port to continue her voyage to London. He gazed at her regretfully. “I’d like to have a yarn with that Belgian skipper,” he murmur
ed. “Perhaps I should get a hint as to what it was he dropped overboard on Vane Sand. Perhaps I will, next time he comes in here, if I can think of a way of introducing myself without arousing his suspicions.”
It was not many minutes before he was joined by Young, and the two men went on board the yacht together. “You don’t look as though you had made any earth-shaking discoveries,” remarked Merrion, as the two sat in the cabin. “What were the results of your shadowing of Thorburn, or Gregson, if you prefer it?”
“Precious little,” replied Young. “He came out, less than five minutes after you had left me. It was Gregson, right enough, I was close enough to recognise him beyond a shadow of doubt. And I fancy you were right as to his business. He was followed by a young fellow, carrying a couple of cases of bottles, which he put in the car. When Gregson had seen them safely stowed, he got into the car and drove off.”
“You’re quite sure that the cases contained bottles, I suppose?” asked Merrion thoughtfully.
“Quite sure. They had no lids, and I could actually see the bottles. One of the well-known brands of whisky. Why?”
“It struck me as curious that Hollesley should send in and buy all that liquor. He drank extraordinarily little when I was with him. I wonder if he’s a secret drinker? That might explain several things. But I take it that at present we are not concerned with Hollesley’s habits, or, for that matter, with his butler, are we?”
“No, but we are concerned with Dunsford. When I came down here to-day I was convinced that your man, Newport, had got hold of the wrong end of the stick, somehow. It was utterly inconceivable that a woman in Lady Applegarth’s position could have had any dealings with Dunsford. Still, I made a few inquiries about her—she’s a very well-known woman, as you know, and it wasn’t difficult to find out all about her. She belongs to one of the smartest sets in London, and her home is always full of people. She’s far too busy enjoying herself to have time for any shady adventures.