by Vernon Loder
“It is generally agreed that the late Mr. Hayes was an angler of skill and experience. He was not in the habit of using this fly. He would not have used that amateurish knot. The police naturally concluded that the murderer had found the rod fitted up with line and cast, though there was no fly attached to it, and that he had tied on a fly, to make it appear that Mr. Hayes was fishing at the moment of his death, and slipped into the water accidentally. Until late last night that appeared to be the only solution of the circumstance. I now propose to call a witness, who has come forward voluntarily in the interests of justice to explain this matter. It will then be seen that the thing had no real bearing on the case.”
There was a little sensation in court when a loutish youth, wearing the shirt and shorts of a hiker, went into the witness-box.
He gave his name and address, agreed that he came from Liverpool, was at present on holiday from his office, and camping in a small tent on the side of the hill beyond Pengellert. Between seven and half-past on the evening of the day when Mr. Hayes met his death, he was down on the bank of the river looking at the sewin, which were lying in shoals at the bottom of some of the clear pools. Lying down flat on the top of a rock, to get a better view of the fish below, he had noticed the root of a bush projecting under the water, and, stuck in it, what looked like a large fly. He retrieved it, and was ready to swear that it was the fly exhibited in court.
He had never fished, but the spectacle of the sewin lying within sight of him, and the fact that no one was within sight, made him wish to have a try. He had watched the anglers casting flies, and only the fact that he had neither a rod nor a line prevented him from having a shot at it. As it was, he stuck the fly in the pocket of his shirt, and went down towards the next pool. Here he came on a rod and line and cast, no doubt that left by Mr. Hayes when he had had the fracas with his fellow-guest.
“That would be about the time all the hotel anglers were at dinner?” said the Coroner.
“I suppose so, sir. Anyway, no one was there, and I thought I would have a try. I knotted the fly to the gut, or whatever it is.”
Smiles rippled over the faces of the many anglers in court as the youth explained that he could not cast the fly, because it was too heavy. He gave up the attempt, put the rod down, and went back to his tent for supper.
“You did not realise that it is difficult for an expert, let alone a novice, to cast a big salmon-fly with a light rod?” said the Coroner.
“No, sir, I didn’t till I tried. I got it tangled up twice, and had to disentangle it. I was down in the village last night, and heard someone say there was a fly on the rod that showed someone had tried to pretend the dead man had been fishing. I thought it would be better for me to explain to the police that it was me.”
The Coroner thanked him, and dismissed him from the box. Then he summed up, stressing the lack of definite evidence which would connect anyone who had come before them with the case, and indicating that a verdict of murder against some person or persons unknown would fit the circumstances. “We are here to find the cause of death merely,” he added. “I am sure you are aware that your verdict, whatever it may be, will not affect the continuance of the investigation by the police. I am advised that they do not ask for an adjournment.”
He looked at the Superintendent, who bowed, and replied that this was the fact. The jury then retired, to return within twenty minutes. They returned an open verdict, as directed, the inquest closed, and that on the body of Blodwen Tysin almost immediately begun.
Inspector Parfitt went into the box, when evidence of identification had been given, and stated what had taken place at the tarn at Llynithen. He described the recovery of the body, the finding of the deserted car beside the little lake, and the steps he had taken to discover who had been in the car on its arrival at the lakeside.
“There were certain finger-prints definitely marked on various parts of the car,” he said. “I have been unable to discover any that do not correspond to prints taken from the dead woman’s fingers. I have also identified the stone attached to the body as one which used to act as a boot-scraper outside the door of her farmhouse, and the rope as a portion of a clothes-line from the same place.”
“Then you take it for granted that Miss Tysin drove the car alone to this lake, having it in mind to commit suicide?”
“That is the conclusion in my mind, sir.”
The doctor was then called to give evidence. He stated that there was not an atom of evidence to prove that the dead girl had been engaged in a struggle with anyone, and no bruises or wounds to suggest it. She had met her death by drowning, and the only abrasion found had probably been caused by a jagged rock at the bottom of the lake.
He added, with some acerbity, that he understood there had been some foolish and uncharitable gossip with regard to the character of the dead girl.
“Since you have mentioned the fact,” said the Coroner, “may I take it that these aspersions were unwarranted?”
“You can, sir,” said the doctor. “Utterly unwarranted!”
“She was a young woman of excellent moral character?”
“I understand so. From my point of view, I am certain of it.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” replied the Coroner. “I hope we shall hear no more of this matter.”
The doctor stood down, and the constable who found the ring was next called. He told what he knew, and the ring was passed over for the inspection of the jurymen.
“The police are investigating the matter,” said the Coroner, while the jury handed the ring from one to another. “But that does not concern us here. We may take it, from its kind and design, that it is what is commonly known as an engagement-ring. But rings of this kind do not always mean valid engagements, any more than the wearing of a wedding-ring proves that a woman is legally married. You may take it that this ring was given to Blodwen Tysin by a lover. Who that lover was may never be known to us, or it may become known when the police have completed their inquiries with regard to it.”
“We may hear within a day or two, sir,” said the Superintendent.
“Quite so. Well, I do not propose to go into that now. The point I would stress is this: Blodwen Tysin was found drowned, with no signs to suggest that her death was due to anyone but herself. Prior to her death, we may assume that she removed her ring, which was not found on her finger when the body was recovered, and threw it into the lake. She was an inexperienced girl, and, as men of the world we may take it that the delicate balance of her mind was upset by a disappointment in her love affair. She was a girl of excellent character, but high-strung and romantic. This is just the type of young woman to take such things hardly, and I have no hesitation in suggesting to you that a verdict of suicide while of unsound mind is a very proper one in the circumstances. You will consider the evidence before you, and not allow yourselves to be influenced by any evidence outside the scope of this inquiry, which is to determine how Blodwen Tysin came by her death.”
Both Joan Powis and Harry Wint admired the way in which the Coroner evaded the more controversial questions in the case, and when a verdict of suicide was duly brought in, they left the court agreed that Inspector Parfitt’s hand was obvious behind the suppressions.
Edward Bow came up to them when they were on their way to the bus, and greeted them cheerfully.
“Well, that’s that,” he said. “I don’t suppose they will ever catch the murderer of Hayes, so it was just as well to leave the thing open.”
Joan looked at Wint, who glanced gravely back at her. In both their minds was the thought that they had wisely, or unwisely, but at least without personal malice, given the Inspector information which might seriously prejudice Bow’s position. It struck Wint now that, having done so, it would be only fair to see what Bow had to say about it.
“The police have a suspicion that you and Mrs. Hayes were formerly acquainted,” he remarked. Bow stopped and stared at him. “How do you know that?”
Joan
was rather red now, but Wint replied quite calmly.
“Do you think people who believe they have information bearing on a murder have the right to conceal it?”
Bow walked on. “No, I don’t think so. If we suspect someone of murder, and fail to mention it for any reason, we are obstructing the ends of justice, aren’t we? I remember, during the War, people who liked the Germans could not see that they were in the wrong, and some liked the Austrians, and some the Hungarians. But if you are never going to fight anyone who is in the wrong just because you like ’em, what’s going to happen? If everyone in this country was prepared to perjure himself to save his friends, or suppress evidence against them where does justice come in? Without fear or favour is my idea of justice.”
Wint nodded. “Good. Well, I told Parfitt that it was quite likely you and Mrs. Hayes had been friends before her marriage.”
Joan hardly knew what to expect. Certainly she did not expect the sardonic laugh with which Bow greeted Wint’s confession.
“My dear fellow, you ought to use cocaine, and play the violin,” said the latter. “I should be interested to hear the steps in the deduction.”
Joan put in hastily: “Mr. Wint didn’t find it out. I did.”
Bow bowed and smiled, more ironically than ever.
“That’s frank at least,” he said. “Any evidence against the prisoners?”
Chapter XVI
Bow Hesitates
JOAN was momentarily taken aback by Bow’s cool question. Then she recovered herself, and told him plainly what she had seen.
Bow reflected for a moment, nodded seriously, and spoke. “Yes, I must plead guilty to what is, after all, not a criminal act! And having convicted me out of my own mouth of a passion for justice unalloyed, I don’t see that I can blame you.”
“Then you knew Mrs. Hayes before she came here?” said Wint.
Bow looked about him before he replied. “Certainly. Twenty-eight years ago—perhaps a little more. But you can take my word for it that I was not aware she was coming to Pengellert. In fact, until I saw her the other morning, I had not seen her, or had a letter from her, since her marriage.”
Joan looked ruefully at Wint. “We do believe you, Mr. Bow. I hope we haven’t done you any harm by speaking to the Inspector?”
He smiled faintly. “‘Yours not to reason why.’ I admit that. What am I to say? Perhaps my best answer is that I do not expect to be tried for the murder of Mr. Solomon Hayes; partly because I did not see him that evening, but mostly because I hadn’t the pleasure of slaying the monster. I think we heard almost enough to justify that extreme course this morning.”
Joan hardly knew what to make of this strange man. But she went on bravely. “I didn’t quite mean you, when I spoke of doing harm—I meant you and Mrs. Hayes.”
They were within fifty yards of the bus-stop now, and Bow halted them with a gesture.
“Going by bus, weren’t you? I came in my car. What about coming back with me? You may like to hear a somewhat prejudiced counsel for the defence.”
As they were both anxious to hear what he had to say, they went to the parking-place with him to get his car, and he drove off slowly, with Joan and Wint beside him in the wide front seat.
“I am sorry you are both as law-abiding as myself,” he remarked, when they were clear of the town. “I admit that it does not exactly help Caroline Hayes. You both thought, I presume, that it was only our former intimacy which complicated matters.”
“You mean,” said Wint bluntly, “that if the police had heard that you and Mrs. Hayes had been great friends before her marriage, they might have imagined a conspiracy to get rid of the husband?”
“Exactly. But only in the present circumstances, remember. I had the misfortune to quarrel with Hayes here; Mrs. Hayes, quite unknown to me, rushed down here the night her husband was killed. It seemed a pity to give the police food for thought.”
“But we have given it to them now,” said Joan, who was much more easily impressed by an exparte statement than Wint. “I am sure she will hate us!”
Bow shook his head. “I don’t think so. Caroline is a singularly fair-minded woman. She wouldn’t expect you to outrage your civic conscience for her sake. Besides, like myself, she has the consolation of knowing that she did not kill her husband. Mind you,” he added, with a look that was half-serious, half-jesting, “most of us have it in us to kill in a good cause. But I think she thought her husband hardly worth it. It was not jealousy that brought her here. From what I know of her, I can assure you that it was her anxiety to save that poor girl Tysin from a filthy ruffian.”
They nodded, but made no comment. He went on. “I see that I shall have to tell the Inspector about myself and Caroline. It’s an old story, and rather a painful one for us both. Shall I practise the recital on you?”
His ironical manner did not make a good impression on Harry Wint, but Joan took him seriously.
“Please not, if it is a painful subject!” she cried.
Bow raised his eyebrows. “Let’s get it out of our system then,” he said, almost gaily. “Most stories have a sequel, sooner or later, and ours certainly will, when this has blown over.”
As he drove on, he told them a little more fully of his early acquaintance with Caroline Hayes, and the misfortune which had separated them on the verge of an engagement.
“I was rather like Blodwen Tysin then,” he added. “High-strung and romantic, didn’t the Coroner say? I had no fancy for dark tarns, but, most decidedly, my favourite heroes were those who mounted and rode away, full of high and unselfish thoughts for the happiness of the beloved. At least, that is what the romances told us they were. They rarely told us that you may do a woman more harm by leaving than loving her, or that wealthy women often made the best wives for poor men. You see what a muddled wiseacre I was then? To secure Caroline’s happiness, I left her to the tender mercies of the wicked.”
“But what an unhappy story,” cried Joan.
“Yes, it was, Miss Powis. But a happy chance, if you’ll excuse the term in this connection, has put a new face on things. Someone having kindly removed the Gorgon’s Head, which was rapidly freezing my poor Caroline into stone, we have hopes of a pleasanter future, you know.”
“I do hope you have,” said Joan earnestly, and even Wint was now more impressed by Bow’s explanation.
“Well, Miss Powis, you seem to have some detective gifts,” the latter said smiling. “Why don’t you and Wint here turn them to the help of the defence?”
“I am afraid you are laughing at me,” said Joan. “I can’t really blame you now.”
“Oh, no,” he said hastily. “I am afraid the troubles I brought on myself years ago made me put on a protective skin of mockery. I am really anxious to clear up the position, and apart from my joke about deduction, any fresh mind may see a point the police overlooked. What do you think, Wint?”
Wint agreed. “I see you are not too certain that Mrs. Hayes may not be involved, Bow.”
“If you mean involved by accident, my dear fellow, I’m with you. If Miss Powis will excuse the phrase, I think she is in the hell of a hole.”
“Really?” cried Joan.
“I am afraid so. You see, there is no doubt that Hayes was a blackguard, and that Caroline knew it long ago. Apparently Parfitt knows now, or will soon learn, that she and I were only nearly engaged. He asked her where she was born, and her maiden name, recently; which struck us both as odd. To some minds, she and I had a good motive for killing Hayes, and we were both here at the time of his death.”
“How can you say that Mrs. Hayes was here?” Wint asked shrewdly. “We don’t know at what hour he was killed.”
“True, my dear chap, but she has no alibi for certain hours of dark, and it may have been during those hours that Hayes was killed. If you could find her an alibi, everything in the garden would be lovely.”
“But she was driving here from a distance.”
“Quite. She can tell the polic
e what she likes, but it is a question if the police will necessarily believe her. That’s the crux of the matter.”
“I suppose she could tell roughly how far she travelled, and how fast, and where she had the accident that made her nose bleed?”
“At the present stage, I am afraid she could hardly answer that last question, Wint.”
“I know it may be difficult to identify a strange place you only saw by night, but if she could place it within a few miles, the police would make a thorough search, and find some traces perhaps of the side-slip, or collision, or whatever it was that happened.”
“Yes, she could surely do that?” cried Joan.
Bow seemed doubtful, and already the car was approaching the hotel.
“I tell you what,” he exclaimed, as he began to slow down, “I shall have a talk with Caroline, and get her views. Will you go for a stroll up the river, past the village after tea, and we’ll follow you? By that time I shall know what she and I decide.”
“Of course we will,” said Joan eagerly. “And we’ll do what we can to help.”
Chapter XVII
A Prior Attachment
“NOW, Parfitt,” said the Chief Constable, as he sat in the Superintendent’s office after lunch that day, “we have cleared off those formalities, and can get to work. I am glad no officious juryman got up to make mischief. There was one who had a roving eye, and I wasn’t sure of him to the last.”
“No, sir. I think it went off very well,” replied Parfitt, drawing a bundle of police reports to him, and glancing at that on the top. “I have got in a good many answers to my inquiries already.”
“Then let’s hear how we stand. What about this Mr. Chance?”