It was an unlikely story from anybody but Whippet, but in his case I was rather inclined to accept it.
‘Well, what about the letters?’ I persisted.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘One’s supposed to tear up anonymous letters, isn’t one?’ he said. ‘Tear ’em up or keep ’em as mememtoes, or frame ’em. Anything but take them seriously. And yet, you know, when they go on and on one seems to come to a point when one says to oneself, “Who the hell is writing these things?” It’s very disturbing, but I like the mole. I shall be at “The Feathers”, Campion. I give you my word I shall remain there. Look me up when you can spare the time, and we’ll go into it. Good-bye.’
I let him go. Talking to him, it seemed impossible that he should have the energy to involve himself very deeply in anything so disturbing as our case.
Walking back to the rose garden, I thought about the mole seriously for the first time. A great deal of what Whippet had said about anonymous letters was true. Hayhoe was an educated man, and so was Bathwick, but, even so, why should either of them send both to me and Whippet? It seemed inexplicable.
Janet came to meet me. She was not pleased.
‘I don’t want to interfere,’ she said, using the tone and the phrase to mean its exact opposite, ‘but I don’t think you ought to allow her to annoy poor Bathwick.’
‘Who?’ I said, momentarily off my guard.
Janet flared. ‘Oh, how you irritate me,’ she said. ‘You know perfectly well who I mean … that wretched, stupid little girl, Effie Rowlandson. It’s bad enough to bring her down here to our village, without letting her get her claws into people who couldn’t possibly look after themselves. I hate to have to talk to you like this, Albert, but really you know it is rather disgusting of you.’
I was not going to be dragged into a defence of Effie Rowlandson, but I was tired and I resented Bathwick being held up to me as an example of the innocent lamb.
‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘you heard about Bathwick getting wet last night. He told Leo an absurd story about falling into a dyke on his way home. However, it took him nearly two hours to get out and on to the main road again, and I’m afraid he’ll have to explain himself now that Harris’s body has turned up – er – where it has.’
I was not looking at her as I spoke, and her little cry brought me round to face her. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes wide and alarmed.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Oh! Oh! How terrible!’
And then before I could stop her she had taken to her heels and fled back to the house. I followed her, of course, but she had shut herself in her bedroom, and once more I was given furiously to think.
I went into the library, which is a large, old-fashioned room hardly ever used by the Pursuivants. It was cool and the air was aromatic with the smell of paper. I sat down in a big leather armchair to think things out, and I am afraid that my lack of sleep the night before was too much for me. I woke up to find Janet standing before me. She was pale but determined.
‘I thought you’d gone out,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s late, you know. Look here, Albert, I’ve got to tell you something. I can’t let Bathwick get into trouble for something he didn’t do, and I know he’d rather die than tell you himself. If you laugh, I’ll never speak to you again.’
I got up and shook off the remnants of sleep. She looked very charming in her white dress, her eyes defiant.
‘I’ve never felt less like laughing in my life,’ I said truthfully. ‘What’s all this about Bathwick?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Mr Bathwick didn’t fall in a dyke,’ she said. ‘He fell in our lily-pool.’
‘Really? How do you know?’
‘I pushed him,’ said Janet in a small voice.
Pressed to continue, she explained:
‘Last night, after you took Miss Rowlandson home, I didn’t go to bed immediately. I went out on the balcony leading from my room. It was a very bright night, as you know, and I saw someone wandering about in the rose garden. I thought it was Daddy mooching about, worrying over the case, and I went out to talk to him. When I got there it was Bathwick. We walked round the garden together, and when we were quite near the lily-pool he – er –’
She paused.
‘Offered you his hand and heart in a slightly too forth-right manner?’ I suggested.
She nodded gratefully. ‘I pushed him away, and unfortunately he overbalanced and fell in the pool. As soon as I saw he was safe on land again I went back to the house. It seemed the nicest thing to do. I don’t have to tell anybody else, do I?’
‘No,’ I murmured. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
She smiled at me. ‘You’re all right really, Albert,’ she said.
And then, of course, I was called to the telephone. It was Poppy on the end of the wire. She has never grown quite used to the instrument, and I had to hold the receiver some inches away from my ear before I could get her message.
‘I’ve made those inquiries,’ she boomed. ‘I don’t think the V. came back; anyway, no one saw him. But who do you think was seen roaming about the top storey yesterday morning? My dear, I wouldn’t have thought it of him. He seemed so genuine. Who? Oh, didn’t I tell you? Why, the uncle, Hayhoe, of course. Trotting round as though the place belonged to him. The girl who saw him naturally thought I’d given him permission. You never can tell with people, can you?’
CHAPTER 13
Scarecrow in June
JANET WAS AT my side when I hung up the receiver. ‘What is it?’ she said anxiously. ‘That was Poppy’s voice, wasn’t it? Oh, Albert, I’m afraid! Something else terrible has happened.’
‘Good lord, no!’ I said, with an assurance I did not feel. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. At least, I don’t think so.’
She stood looking up at me.
‘You know it’s all right about Bathwick now, don’t you?’
‘Of course,’ I assured her cheerfully. ‘I’d better go, though. There’s something rather important to be fixed, something that’s got to be done pretty quickly.’
Lugg brought round the car and we went down to the Police Station together. Leo was still there in consultation with Pussey and I was sorry to see him so drawn and haggard. The affair was getting him down. There were deep lines in his face, and his bright eyes were darker than usual in their anxiety. I stated my case.
‘Arrest Heigh-ho?’ he said. ‘Really? I don’t think we can arrest him, don’t you know. We can bring him in and question him – wanted to in the beginnin’ – but we can’t hold him. There’s not a tittle of solid evidence against the feller.’
I didn’t like to annoy him but I was desperately anxious.
‘You must hold him, sir,’ I said. ‘That’s the whole point. Pull him in for something else.’
Leo looked aghast. ‘Trump up a charge?’ he said. ‘Monstrous!’
There was not time to explain, and I had no proof anyway.
‘At least keep him here for twenty-four hours,’ I pleaded.
Leo frowned at me. ‘What’s got on your mind, my boy?’ he enquired. ‘Sound apprehensive. Anythin’ in the wind?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, trying not to appear as rattled as I felt. ‘Let’s go and get him anyway.’
Leaving Leo to ponder over the question of arrest, Pussey and I went down in the Lagonda to Mrs Thatcher’s cottage. We picked up young Birkin leaning against a fence on the opposite side of the road. He was a pleasant, shy youth in dilapidated khaki and he made his report in a stage whisper.
‘He’s been in all the day,’ he said. ‘That’s ’is room where the light is. You can see ’im if you look.’
He pointed to a blurred shadow on the faded chintz curtains and my heart sank. Birkin, I saw, was destined to confine his attentions to dog licences for some time to come. It was a coat and a bolster over the back of a chair, of course.
Pussey stood looking at it when we got into the stuffy little attic bedroom and his language was restrained and almost di
gnified.
The unfortunate Birkin rather enjoyed it, I fancy. In his private opinion it was a wonderful clever trick and something to tell the lads of the village.
Mrs Thatcher, a poor old woman who had been too busy all her life to have had time to develop an intelligence, was obstinately mystified. She had told Johnny Birkin that her lodger was in his room, and she honestly thought he was. He must have come downstairs in his stockinged feet, she reckoned. That was all we had to help us.
My scalp was rising. ‘We’ve got to find him,’ I said. ‘Don’t you see it’s desperately important?’
Pussey came out of his trance with alacrity.
‘Well, he can’t have gone far,’ he said. ‘This ain’t a busy place. Someone will have seen him, bound to.’
From Birkin’s evidence the curtains had been drawn just after dusk and he had sat there peacefully watching the light ever since. It gave Hayhoe about an hour, and my spirits rose a little.
To do Pussey justice, he mobilized his small force with speed and efficiency. Leo and I had a meal at ‘The Swan’ while they got busy. There were not many methods of exit from Kepesake and, since Mr Hayhoe did not possess a car, it seemed certain that we should get news of him within an hour or two.
I confess I was jumpy. I felt helpless. My own use in the search was practically nil. I was a comparative stranger, and as such did not inspire the confidence of the suspicious East-Anglian.
We went down to ‘The Feathers’ to interview Whippet and found him dining in the company of Effie Rowlandson and Bathwick. Leo was flabbergasted, and I was surprised myself — they were an odd trio.
When judiciously questioned, it became evident that they knew nothing about Hayhoe, but they looked so much like conspirators that I could have borne to stay and chat with them, had I not been so beset by the fear in my mind.
Round about eleven, Leo, Pussey, and I had a conference. We sat round the stuffy little charge-room at the Station and Pussey put the case before us.
‘He didn’t leave by a bus and, he didn’t hire a car, and if he went on foot by any of the main roads he moves a deal faster than any ordinary animal.’ He paused and eyed us.
‘Seems like that’s unnatural he ain’t been seen at all,’ he said. ‘It isn’t as though any strange car ’as been seen goin’ through the village. We ain’t on the road to anywhere here. It’s been a quiet evening, everyone sittin’ out on their door-steps. Can’t understand it, unless ’e’s took to the fields.’
I thought of the warm leafy darkness which surrounded us, of the deep meadows and grass-grown ditches, and I was afraid.
Leo was inclined to be relieved. ‘Seems to pin it on to him, this boltin’,’ he said. ‘Extraordinary thing! Took a dislike to the feller the moment I set eyes on him. Must have been skulkin’ in the house all yesterday morning’. Amazin’.’
I didn’t know whether to relieve his mind or enhance his fears and I kept silent. Pussey seemed to catch his superior officer’s mood.
‘Ah well, we’ll get him sure enough,’ he said. ‘Now we know as who we’re lookin’ for we won’t let ’im go. The whole village is on the look-out for ’im and none of us ’ere won’t rest tonight. You go back to your bed, sir. You can leave ’im to us.’
It seemed the only thing to do, but I was loth to go.
‘You’ve searched that hill-top?’ I said.
‘Every inch of it, sir. There’s ’is telescope up there but nothin’ else. Besides, ’e couldn’t get there without bein’ seen. ’E’s got to come right through the village street with every man on the look-out for ’im. No no, you won’t find ’im on that hill-top –’lest ’e’s a mowle.’
I started, and I suppose my face betrayed me, for he explained in deference to my city training.
‘They mowles, they travel underground,’ he said, and I felt suddenly sick.
Before we left he brought up a matter which had gone clean out of my mind.
‘That young lady,’ he began, ‘if she could identify …?’
‘In the morning,’ I said hastily. ‘There’ll be a lot to do in the morning.’
‘Ah ha, you’re right, sir,’ he agreed. ‘There’ll be plenty if we catch un.’
‘There’ll be more if you don’t,’ I said and I went home with Leo.
I was climbing into bed for the first time for forty-eight hours when Pepper appeared with a telephone, which he plugged in by my bed.
‘Doctor Kingston,’ he said, and added, half in commiseration, half in reproach, ‘at this hour, sir.…’
Kingston was not only awake but aggressively bright and eager.
‘Hope I didn’t disturb you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been ringing up all the evening. I was down in the village on a case just after dinner and found the whole place seething. I hear you’ve got your man on the run. There’s nothing I can do, I suppose?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ I said, trying to keep polite.
‘Oh, I see.’ He seemed genuinely disappointed. ‘I must apologize for being so inquisitive, but you know how it is. I feel I’ve got a sort of natural interest. You will let me know if anything happens or if I can possibly be of any use, won’t you?’
‘I will,’ I said, but he did not ring off.
‘You sound tired. Don’t overdo it. Oh I say, there’s some funny people staying at “The Feathers”. Strangers. The village doesn’t know if it’s just a case of ordinary immorality or if there’s more to it. The fellow’s name is Greyhound, or something. Like ’em looked into?’
I cursed him for his dull life.
‘They’re spies of mine,’ I said.
‘What? I didn’t quite catch you.…’
‘Spies,’ I said. ‘Mine. I’ve got ’em everywhere. Good night.’
I was awake at six. Lugg called me, protestingly.
‘Conscientious, aren’t you?’ he said derisively. ‘’Ayhoe’s running away from a pack of narks who want to jug ’im for murder, but he’s not going to pass up the little appointment ’e’s made with you – Oh dear me no! I don’t think.’
‘All the same I think I’ll go,’ I said. ‘You never know.’
He stood before me, disconsolate, in an outrageous dressing-gown.
‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ he offered magnanimously. ‘There’s nothing I like better than a long country walk before the dew’s off the grass – cools me feet.’
I sent him back to bed, dressed, and went out. It was one of those fine, clear mornings which promise great heat in the day to come. The sky was opal and the grass was soft and springy underfoot.
I went round by the field path and passed down the village street where I caught a glimpse of the ingenuous Birkin. He gave me the news, or rather, the smiling information that there was none.
‘We’ll be able to get ’im sure enough now the sun’s up,’ he said. ‘We’ll bring ’im back kicking.’
I shivered although the morning was warm.
‘I hope so,’ I said and went on.
The little sunken lane was deserted and it was a pleasant morning for walking, but I found my feet lagging and I entered the hill meadow with the deepest foreboding.
It was a longer climb to the top than I had thought and when I reached the summit I was momentarily relieved. It was clear and bare and I disturbed nothing but a brace of larks resting in the short grass. The old brass telescope was still mounted on its tripod. There was dew on the lenses and I wiped them with my handkerchief.
From where I stood I had a stupendous view of the surrounding country. I could see Halt Knights lying rose-red and gracious on the grey saltings, the river mouth, dazzling in the morning sun, and around it, the little pocket handkerchief fields and meadows, the corn high and green, the pasture browned a little by the hot weather. It was a lovely county.
Here and there little farms were dotted and among them the white ribbons of the roads twirled and turned.
I stood there for a long time looking at the scene. It was so peaceful, so quiet, an
d so charming. There was nothing out of place, nothing frightening or remarkable.
And then I saw it. About half a mile away, in the midst of a field waist high in green corn, there was a dilapidated scarecrow, a grotesque, unnatural creature set up to terrify the not-quite-so-clever rooks.
But about this particular effigy there was a difference. Far from being frightened, the rooks were swarming upon it.
I looked through the telescope and straightened myself a moment or so later, sick and giddy, my worst fears realized. Mr Hayhoe had been found.
CHAPTER 14
The Man they Knew
HE HAD A wound in his neck, a strong deep thrust over the collar-bone which had severed the jugular, and when we found him he was not pretty to look at.
Pussey and Leo and I stood round the terrible thing hoisted on a piece of broken paling, and the green corn whispered around us.
After the usual preliminaries, the police brought Hayhoe down on a tumbril to the little mortuary behind the Station, and yet another trestle table was prepared there to receive him.
Leo looked pale and shaken, and Pussey, who had been turned up physically by the first sight of my discovery, presented a mottled ghost of his former cherubic self.
When we were alone together in the mortuary shed, standing between the two white-covered things which had come to upset so violently the time-honoured peace of Kepesake, Leo turned to me.
‘This is what you were afraid of?’ he said, accusingly.
I looked at him helplessly. ‘It did go through my mind that something like this might happen. He conveyed that he had definite information, you see.’
He passed his hand over his sparse grey hair.
‘But who? Who’s done it, Campion?’ he exploded. ‘Don’t you see, my boy, a terrible thing is happening. It’s the strangers who are getting killed off. The field’s narrowing down to our own people. Good God! What’s to be done now?’
‘There’s not much to go on,’ I pointed out. ‘The cornfield was bordered by the road, so the murderer would not have far to carry him even if he had to, although of course there’s a chance he was killed on the spot. There was a great deal of blood about.’
The Case of the Late Pig Page 9