As I dug through the young man’s belongings I heard in the distance the sound of yelling and dogs barking and knew that the hunt had gotten underway. Such a savage thing, I always thought, not true hunting at all. What sport was there in pursuing an animal that had no chance of escape? As it took mere moments to find Adrian’s journal, which was poorly hidden, the thought crossed my mind that perhaps what I was doing at the moment was equally unfair. What hope did such a fool have of keeping his secrets from my prying eyes?
The Search
The scribblings contained within Adrian Dunning’s private journal did not detail a murderous plot but they were still every bit as enlightening, and disturbing, as I had hoped. More certain than ever that the final piece to the puzzle was nothing other than the body of Colin Wright itself I grabbed my bag, loaded with the lunch that Mrs. Kyle had provided, and sometime shortly after ten in the morning I set off. I knew it not at the time but distant eyes stared at me through a pair of binoculars, those of the most devious eldest son of the Dunning clan.
As I passed by Mr. Findlay, who’d returned to his work in the garden, I paused to ask him one more question. “Sir, have you seen Mr. Daidley about? I wish to ask the agent some questions regarding the matter I am here to investigate.”
“Th’last ah heard ‘e left fer ‘oliday in France.”
“Oh.” my surprise was no-doubt palpable, “Have you any idea when he shall be returning?”
“Ah’m afraid ah’ve no idea sir but ‘e left just t’other day so ah’d imagine it may be some time.”
“Do you remember the day that he left?”
“Aye, t’was the day that ye arrived sir. ‘Eard Mrs. Kyle yammerin’ on ‘bout it in the servant’s dinin’ ‘all at supper.”
“Thank you.” I said before walking away, clutching the messenger bag that carried not only my lunch and my glass but also the service revolver that once belonged to my departed friend Mr. Parney. I detest the use of firearms but one must always be prepared. Being from the city I had no idea as to what type of creatures I may come across whilst wondering around the countryside and I had no intention of becoming the afternoon snack of any one of them.
The Dunning estate was incredibly large, far more than I could cover in a single day but that did not disturb me. I planned to enjoy the sights and sounds of nature and if my search took several days then so be it. I would work my way out from the house in a spiraling fashion, looking for any patches of Earth that appeared to have been disturbed. I knew full-well that my chances of simply stumbling upon the grave were somewhat remote but it seemed as though the few who knew precisely where it was were in no mood to reveal its location to me. Were I able to find it on my own I could force their hand and quickly get to the heart of the matter. Was the death an accident or a foul plot? Plotting, I was certain, had indeed taken place but had it resulted in the boy’s death? What was the mysterious blue substance? Was Mr. Wright engaged in some sort of espionage? Who precisely was the young Mr. Wright, a man who talked little of his past and behaved in strange ways for which there were no explanations?
I had plenty of time to contemplate those points as I walked the grounds. Shortly before my spiraling search pattern took me away from the vicinity of the house I caught sight of Michael Dunning sitting upon a bench under an oak tree along the walking path. He apparently saw me as well for he gave me a tentative wave to accompany his accusatory stare.
By the time my watch showed fifteen-after-one I’d come upon the cabin wherein I’d been told Miss Elizabeth had engaged in unsavory acts with the young banker from town. It seemed still to be deserted so I made my way inside. Wiping off what appeared to be years of dust from the kitchen table I pulled up a chair and laid out the spartan lunch the maid had prepared for me. A sandwich, an apple, and a left-over scone from breakfast would serve to hold me up until dinner time.
A cursory glance around the room showed that not all of it had been untouched. A bed in the far corner of the one-room cottage laid in a state of disarray with its coverings tossed about. A candle on the night-stand nearest it and a box of matches appeared to have been moved around in the recent past for there were trails in the thick dust that covered the surface. No-doubt the cabin had been visited in recent months by Miss Elizabeth and her lover, lest there was another couple somewhere on the estate using it as a romantic rendezvous. I had, of course, been regaled with tales of the wickedness of farmers’ daughters, but whether or not such accounts were pure fiction or not I could not say; one of the many things I pondered as I slowly ate my lunch.
Saving the apple for last I picked it from the table and polished it’s skin against the fabric of my waistcoat. I twirled it ‘round in my fingers, it was a lovely specimen, lovelier than any of those I’d found at the markets in London. Amazing, but not surprising, that wealth could allow a household to enjoy such wonderful and fresh produce in the depths of winter. I lifted the fruit to my mouth but out of the corner of my eye, and through the filthy glass of the cabin’s window, I perceived the movement of something outside.
My mind went immediately to the thought of a wild animal and seeing as how I’d left the front door open to allow in some of the delightfully mild morning air I jumped from my seat to close it. Grabbing the knob in hand I poked my head out of the doorway and glanced around with great brevity before turning to pull it shut. Before it latched, however, I felt the impact of something quite weighty against the outside of it. Without warning it came crashing back open and there in the doorway stood a tall figure, its face partially obscured beneath a scarf and its head topped with a wide-brimmed hat.
Before I could react the man struck me upon the cheek with a swift blow from his right hand and I tumbled backwards onto the floor and landed in between two of the chairs that sat on the opposite side of the table from where I had taken my lunch. The zing of metal echoed through the small and mostly-barren cabin as he produced a dagger from his belt and pointed it squarely at me.
“What are you doing here?” the figure demanded.
I rubbed my jaw and spat back, “I am Inspector Robert Carson of London. I’m here investigating a matter for the Dunning family, who in the hell are you?”
The man stood silent for a moment, then spoke in the same raspy tone he’d used before, no-doubt attempting to disguise his voice. “You are trespassing here.” With that he pulled free a set of irons from his belt and tossed them at my feet. “Put them on.”
“I can assure you that’s not going to happen sir. Now kindly leave me be lest I subdue and detain you for the charge of being a highwayman as I can see no other reason for you to be running about the countryside in disguise.”
The figure bent to a squat and thrust the dagger closer to my person. “Now!”
Just then a loud cracking sound from the doorway made my attacker turn. With a precise kick I knocked the blade from his hand and sent it flying toward the stove. As he dove for it I likewise lept for my bag, which was resting only a foot or so away, near the chair that I had been sitting in. Rifling through it quickly I produced the revolver and spun, still on the floor under the table, bringing the pistol to bear on my assailant.
He’d recovered the dagger and was lunging for me so I did the only sensible thing that came to me at the moment. I fired a single shot into the man’s shoulder. He fell back onto his bottom with a thud that shook the entire cabin and I jumped to my feet without wasting a moment. A quick glance revealed, much to my surprise, that the man who stood in the door was none other than Samuel Peterson. He had swatted his cane hard against the doorjamb to provide me with a suitable distraction. His mouth was agape as he watched me kick the blade away from the mugger’s hand. I walked over to the stove and retrieved a poker which I then used to remove the scarf from the struggling man’s face. Some part of me had expected it to be Adrian Dunning, it was not.
“Who are you? Come on, speak!” I demanded as I waved the revolver at him.
The man said nothing, he only clutched at
the wound in his left shoulder. Taking matters into my own hands I kneeled to rifle through his pockets and upon removing his wallet I emptied its contents onto the floor. Daidley! Several of the pieces of paper in his wallet had the name Daidley on them.
“On holiday in France are we?”
“My goodness!” Mr. Peterson finally spoke as he approached the two of us. “Daidley what in the hell are you doing?”
Again the man said nothing. Being framed for an illicit affair with a governess was one thing but being assaulted by the property’s agent was another. I was furious and no longer wished to partake in any of the games that were being played on the Dunning estate. Tossing the poker aside I picked up the dagger and brandished it in front of the man.
“Now Inspector, calm down!” Samuel pleaded with me. I paid him little attention.
“I shall assume by the design of this dagger that you spent some time in India...in the service of the military perhaps? No...a military man would have had more skill in his attack, of course unless you never meant to actually harm me but instead to simply run me off or kidnap me and drop me in a gutter somewhere far away.”
I leaned in close and touched the blade to his chin, “You will tell me precisely what I want to know and you will tell it to me right now. I am an Inspector, I know very well how to dispose of evidence or a dead body in such a manner that no one will ever find it.”
“Heaven’s sake!” Mr. Peterson blurted out.
I was, of course, bluffing. I would not take the man’s life over something so relatively trivial. That did not mean, however, that I would not leave him a little worse for wear. His refusal to speak prompted me to lift him to his feet and deposit him into one of the nearby chairs. I reached back and with all of my strength punched him squarely in the face so hard that his chair lifted off of the front legs and fell backwards until it was leaning against the table.
“Was it Adrian? Did he task you with chasing me off or was it the father, Michael Dunning? Perhaps more, to put me into an unmarked grave like the late Mr. Wright?”
Defiantly he spat at my feet. I allowed my temper to seethe over and I jumped at him, dagger to his throat. “Tell me!”
He remained silent and a moment later I felt Mr. Peterson’s gentle touch upon my shoulder. Catching myself I returned to a standing position. I adjusted my coat and scarf, I would not let my emotions override my better judgment. There was a better chance of making the man talk if I remained composed and allowed him to be the one to lose control.
“You are right Samuel, I overreacted. Thank you.” I whispered to my friend, “Not that I am ungrateful for your most well-timed interruption but what on Earth are you doing here?”
“We were out on the hunt when our fox darted in an unexpected direction and I noticed something that I felt warranted your immediate attention Robert. The soil of one of the eight hills appears to have been disturbed recently. I rode off looking for you and when I saw the open door I figured you were here in the cottage”
“Not alone, as you can see.” I gestured toward Daidley.
“Yes, well as I was dismounting I heard what sounded like a scuffle coming from inside. As I walked up I saw someone dressed in black assaulting you and gave the door a nice hard rap with my cane to catch his attention.”
“For which you will have my eternal gratitude, I assure you.” I smiled and then turned back to face my attacker.
“So Daidley…perhaps it was you who had a personal grievance with Mr. Wright. You killed the boy, and now you’re attempting to cover your own tracks.” I did not believe that statement for one moment and the agent apparently picked up on my lack of conviction for he scoffed at the very notion.
“Very well. I shall ask you one more question. This one you will answer or I will beat you to within an inch of your life. Where is the body buried?”
I struck him again, not wildly like an animal but precisely, as a means of extracting information. Normally I would never resort to any type of violence to obtain what I needed but having just been assaulted by the man I felt it was not unduly deserved. Again he remained silent. I then lifted a boot and planted it firmly into the shoulder in which he’d been shot only moments before. This broke his silence but not in the way in which I had wished. He screamed in agony and promptly proceeded to faint.
A Final Demand
I tore through the garden and approached the rear of the house in a march so brisk it bordered on a canter. Miss Elizabeth was sitting on the back patio with a book from which she looked up, startled, as I plowed through one of the hedges.
“Mr. Carson, are you all right?” she asked, clearly alarmed at how bedraggled I was in appearance.
I continued to storm past her toward the house. “Yes, fine my dear. I fear that I shall have an answer for you on the matter of concern very shortly. Carry on.”
I burst through the rear door so forcefully that I startled old Mrs. Kyle into dropping the pile of linens that she had been walking past with.
She stared at me in horror, her gaze darting from my face to my hands, each of which grasped a weapon. “Mr. Carson, what on Earth are you doing?!”
“Finding some answers my dear lady. Now where is the master of the house? He is nowhere on the lawn.”
“He’s...” she hesitated, “he’s in the library.”
“Thank you then.” I said as I tore past her.
Shortly down the hallway Mr. Adrian, still dressed in his hunting attire, came around the corner and my temper ignited. I slid the revolver into my left coat pocket, the dagger into my right.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going Inspector?”
I said nothing.
“Inspector!” he yelled and put himself into a position so as to block my path.
With a single powerful blow from my right hand I dropped the man, some several inches taller than myself, to the hard marble floor. In a flash I unraveled the scarf from ‘round my neck and deftly flipped him onto his back and bound his hands as tightly as I could. I gave little thought to his comfort or even circulation.
When the doors of the library flung open Michael Dunning jumped with a visible start and clutched at his chest as if I’d nearly given him a cardiac episode. I walked over to where he was sitting and tossed the ornate dagger onto one of the side tables.
“Does this item look familiar to you sir?”
He was so taken aback that it took him a moment to respond. When finally he managed to close his jaw, which had been hanging agape, he glanced over at the wall nearest the fireplace and then back to me. “Why yes Inspector...it’s one of my daggers. It was a gift from Miss Tripti’s grandfather some years back...but how?”
“I was just assaulted with it in the old cottage near the edge of the forest.”
“Surely not! By whom?”
“By your very own Mr. Daidley.” I stared at him accusingly.
“But...he’s on holiday in France.” there was an honesty in the man’s response. All along I had felt there to be a burdensome secret that he was concealing from me but he appeared genuinely surprised by news of his agent still being in the country and even more-so having participated in a violent attack.
“Nevertheless these...” I tossed them to the floor, “are his papers. Ones that I retrieved off of his person not more than ten minutes ago.”
“And he came at you with one of my daggers?”
“Yes. While storming back to the house to confront you sir I remembered having seen one of a similar design in your library. Now, as we both can see, one of them is missing. It lies here now” I pointed to the table, “and was recently brandished at my very person.”
The elder Dunning struggled to get to his feet. “Mr. Carson, what is going on here?”
“I wish to ask the same thing of you sir.”
“You believe me to have had a hand in this?”
“No, actually I do not. I believe it was your son, Adrian, who arranged for Mr. Daidley’s ‘holiday’ so that he could use him
as an auxiliary means of getting rid of me should I begin to dig too deeply and refuse to leave.”
“My son would not set violence upon you Inspector nor would I believe Mr. Daidley capable of such a thing.”
“Then you would not believe that upon my first night here at the estate not only did your son drug me and attempt to implicate me in an unsavory affair but that he also physically attacked me upon the rear terrace.”
“No...I would not.”
“That does not make it any less the truth.” I scoffed.
“And Mr. Daidley?”
“His job security threatened by your son I should assume.”
“Then...” he stammered, “then if you believe Adrian capable of these things then no-doubt you also think him guilty of killing the stable-boy.”
“No, I do not.”
My statement seemed to catch him off guard.
“I do not believe Mr. Wright’s death to have been murder. Yet...there is something amiss here and we shall not leave this room until it is settled.”
“Then you believe me? That it was an accident?”
“Yes. Now where is the body?”
“No...I can’t sir.”
“Where is the body?!” I shouted.
“I...I can’t, I can’t.” he protested, then turned away from me and raised his fist to his jaw and bit down upon it. He was shaking visibly.
“We can lay this all to rest Mr. Dunning and it can be forgotten, just tell me where you buried that boy.”
“It’s...all too terrible, you see. I cannot reveal his location for the truth would break my family...my daughter...into so many pieces that she should never be put back together again.”
“Your daughter,” I proclaimed loudly, knowing not what else to do at that moment, “is pregnant by the very man who’s grave you keep hidden!”
A Case Most Peculiar Page 15