Death by the Gaff_Black Heath Classic Crime

by Vernon Loder

  “Apparently, sir, he did not know either of the Hayes before, or, more correctly, he met Hayes once, at an inn in Devon, and disliked him. But there was no real motive, such as we might see in Bow.”

  “You mean over the wife?”

  “Yes, sir. I shall have to go into the matter with him, but I am sure now that he was in love with Mrs. Hayes—before her marriage, I mean. There is no doubt of that; though it would not be fair to say that he killed Hayes. So far as we know, he made no attempt to philander with the lady once she was married.”

  “I see. Well, it is open to us even now to assume that the crime could have been committed by a man or a woman. The evidence of the water-bailiff made it clear that, if Hayes was struck with the gaff, and pushed into the water in the dark, he might have been drawn into the funnel before he could save himself. A man wounded in the jugular would be in no condition to strike out.”

  “No, sir. It is possible that both are innocent, or that Bow did the murder, or Mrs. Hayes alone.”

  “That depends on our being sure that she was in the tunnel that night.”

  “I am sure she was, sir. Look at it this way: she comes into the hotel much later than one would have expected. She explains it partly by talk of an accident, which made her nose bleed. There are some tiny spots, which may be blood, on her dress, but none of her handkerchiefs are stained, as one would expect if she staunched the flow.”

  “Women haven’t so many pockets as they used to have, Parfitt.”

  “No, sir. They carry their handkerchiefs in their bags. There is no pocket in the dress she was wearing that night, and if she went to look in the tunnel, she would hardly carry her bag.”

  “That’s true. But why did she go into the tunnel without a torch?”

  “She may have had one and thrown it away, sir. Or she may have thought the light would make it impossible for her to surprise Hayes.”

  Mr. Rigby began to fill his pipe slowly. “I forgot she had had that rather pathetic letter from Blodwen Tysin. She knew about the tunnels.”

  “Yes, sir, and there is a guide-book in the pocket of her car which describes the mountain railway. I take it that she decided to visit the tunnel to surprise her husband, or see where he had this rendezvous. She may have made up her mind before she left home, or only when she found herself near the pass here.”

  “That would be rather an important point with regard to premeditation, Parfitt,” Rigby observed; “especially as the weapon used is not one she would bring with her.”

  “Yes, it might fine the thing down to manslaughter, if a charge was brought, sir. At any rate, I believe she had studied the ground by means of the map—an ordnance map in this case—and took her car over the bridge, and parked it in that cul-de-sac, where Tysin put her car apparently when she drove down after dark to meet Hayes.”

  “It’s very likely.”

  “Then, sir, I assume that she walked into the first tunnel, and presently collided with the rock wall, as I did myself when I tried the experiment in the dark. I believe that that is where she made her nose bleed. Probably she recoiled from the wall when her face struck it, and the result was that bloodstain on the sleeper.”

  “You will have to examine her on that point,” said Rigby decidedly. “It seemed to me a perfectly logical argument, especially as she seems so very hazy about the exact spot where she had an accident with her car. I am afraid you will have to bring that to an issue; unpleasant as it may be to force the poor woman into a corner. I have a good deal of sympathy with her. Hayes was obviously a brute, and she was naturally resentful. That is your next job. I don’t think we could take any official action against her yet.”

  Parfitt shook his head, turned to another report, and began: “We have just heard from those Birmingham manufacturers, sir. They sold that particular ring to a firm in Oxford Street. I found the letter when I came back from the inquest, and at once rang up the London people. They supplied the ring to a Mr. Hayes at the Horn Hotel. It was sent by post. They had supplied him with a similar ring on another occasion.”

  Rigby pursed his lips. “Filthy brute!”

  Parfitt glanced again at a report. “Now, sir, we had difficulty in discovering exactly where Mr. Hayes was, from the time he left Cwyll that evening preceding his death, up to the time when he got to the river bank. My inquiries come to this: Very few people were on the road at that time, except motorists going through to other places, and none of them would be likely to notice an old Ford car.”

  “They are more noticeable than they used to be,” said Rigby. “At one time every second car seemed to be that!”

  “Well, I took it that it was possible Blodwen Tysin had heard of the trouble, and that Hayes had gone to Cwyll, I confirmed that. But she did not take the usual road through Pengellert. She went by the old and longer road, Pendreath way, the other side of the hill, and presumably met Hayes, and picked him up.”

  “Did anyone see that?”

  “No. But, first thing to-day, Constable Griffiths came in to say that old Mr. Prosser, father of the present farmer at Gwyglas, saw her pass his house alone in the car that evening early. She was heading towards Pendreath. He did not mention it before, because he did not see what her going that way could have had to do either with the murder or the subsequent suicide.”

  “Very naturally he wouldn’t.”

  “No one saw the girl, or noticed her, at any rate, on the Cwyll road below the second bridge; but old Prosser saw her again coming back about an hour later.”

  “Then why the devil didn’t he let us know?” asked Rigby, “especially if Hayes was with her.”

  “But he didn’t know it was Hayes, sir. The car went by pretty fast, and he says, even at the time, though he thought he saw someone in the back seat, under the hood, which was up, he was not sure if it was not a parcel she had brought from Cwyll or Pendreath. His eyes are not very good, though wonderful for a man of eighty.”

  “It may have been Hayes, sitting hunched up, and with his face hidden to avoid attracting attention. But did not the man working at the hill-farm see Hayes come in with the girl?”

  “The man leaves at six, sir, or did that evening. There is a gap in time, sir, that I can’t exactly fill, but I take it that Hayes had a meal there, and was perhaps driven down to the river by the girl after dark.”

  “Surely at that late hour he would hardly go back to fish?”

  Parfitt considered. He had thought of that already. “We knew Mr. Hayes had expensive rods, and took great care of them. He left his rod earlier in the day, because Chance assaulted him, and he was a cowardly fellow. But when he cooled off, I expect he decided to go back for his rod. He knew where he had left it, and as he generally fished the same pool at night, he knew his way about.”

  “You may be right. Then we come to this—Tysin took him down in her car. But if that was the car Mr. Wint heard going back along the road, the time would be between eleven and a quarter past.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Hayes dead by that time, or had she merely left him and gone home?”

  “The latter, I think, sir. The jealous fellow who had told her about the fight with Chance evidently gave her the impression that Hayes had been badly knocked about. But when she saw Hayes, and realised that there was much cry and little wool, she wouldn’t worry so much. I take it that she left him, when he found the rod, and went home.”

  “I see. Well, what about Wint’s gaff? That was found just a little above the pool where Hayes was found, though Wint did not get down so far. How do you account for that?”

  Parfitt did not look very confident. “The whole thing is a supposition on my part, sir, and I can only think of one explanation. Though Mr. Hayes knew his way about well enough, his rod was not where he dropped it when Chance had the altercation with him. The boy out hiking had tried to use it. I expect Hayes looked up and down the bank, and so came on the telescopic gaff Mr. Wint had dropped out of its sling. He was at daggers drawn with the other pe
ople at the hotel, and he may have picked it up in a fit of temper, and afterwards gone on, and found his rod a few yards further down.”

  Rigby mused. “Yes, that would be like the man from what we have heard of him. ‘Here’s one of those damned fellows’ gaffs!’ he would say to himself. ‘Let him look for it in the river!’”

  Parfitt nodded. “That is as far as I have got, sir. One of the anglers heard someone walking up on the ballast of the line above the river. We may take it that that was Mrs. Hayes.”

  Rigby assented. “I agree. I fear that she was there, and afterwards went down to the bank where her husband was. But we cannot get away from two things, Parfitt. If Hayes stayed to fish after Miss Tysin had left him, why was the salmon-fly still tied to the cast? It was a fly he didn’t use, he must have known by the size that it was too big for sewin. If he assumed that it was the fly he had had on earlier in the day, he would know when he cast that it wasn’t. Even in the dark, a salmon-fly cast with a trout-rod takes a lot of driving out.”

  “Yes, that is a point, sir.”

  “And another hangs on it. If he did not intend to fish, why did he not go back with Blodwen Tysin to the bridge when he found the rod?”

  “I suppose he did intend to fish.”

  “Very well. If he intended to fish, he would take up the rod, find that the fly was wrong, and at once change it for another. That would not take two minutes. Since he did not do so, the suggestion can only be that the murderer, Mrs. Hayes, or another, approached him before he touched his tackle. But the girl Tysin would then have met Mrs. Hayes—if it was she, since both would have to take the same path— the one going towards the bridge, and the other coming from it.”

  “True, sir,” replied Parfitt, rather discomfited. “But the girl is dead, and told no one what she saw that night.”

  “I know that. Still, if she met Mrs. Hayes——”

  “Yes, sir, if you’ll excuse me interrupting. But Miss Tysin would take the ordinary path, while Mrs. Hayes would be in the tunnel.”

  Rigby made a gesture of irritation, and applied a match to the unlit pipe he had held in his hand till now.

  “The fact is that we are not used to investigating murders, Parfitt, and I don’t suppose Scotland Yard would appreciate our leavings at this stage. I admit that you have a reasonable sort of case, though whether it would go down with a jury is another thing. There is one possibility that may be worth while looking into, though. I am rather diffident about it, but we can’t afford to leave a stone unturned. I was reading a book about salmon-fishing yesterday. There was a statement in it that the author once lost his gaff in a salmon, and never saw it again. He struck the fish, it gave a wallop, and he had a loose grip on the handle.”

  “It wasn’t in this river by any chance, was it, sir?” Parfitt asked, with faint irony.

  Rigby bit his lip. “No, somewhere in Scotland. You might Inquire about a missing gaff though. Meantime, see Mrs. Hayes, and question her again. You had better warn her, and ask her to make a statement. There are still a few people who dislike telling lies on oath!”

  Chapter XVIII

  Was it the Truth?

  “I SAY,” Wint remarked suddenly, in a self-reproachful voice, as he and Joan Powis made their way through the village after tea. “We forgot we had promised Parfitt not to give his show away! That’s pretty rotten. I never thought of it when we were talking to Bow.”

  Joan had a woman’s less logical, but very practical, feeling that when the end justified the means, there was something to be said for any means.

  “So we did,” she admitted. “But I don’t think we were wrong, Harry. You see, it’s pretty certain now that Mr. Bow had nothing to do with the murder, or Mrs. Hayes.”

  “It’s no more or less certain than it was before,” he replied, with an embarrassed laugh. “Every convicted murderer makes an impression—I mean a favourable impression, on someone. You have only to talk with people after a trial to discover that. But it doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You men are always so anxious to prove something,” said Joan. “At any rate, if we messed up the Inspector’s case in one way, we helped him in another. I feel quite sure Mr. Bow intends to tell him the whole truth this time, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he persuades Mrs. Hayes to say exactly where she was that night.”

  Wint agreed with that. It made him feel better, which is a common reason for agreeing with any argument to salve the conscience. “Yes, I admit that is something. Everyone who is cleared leaves fewer people for the police to deal with, and makes their job easier. But I don’t see that Mrs. Hayes can prove her innocence easily.”

  “Not even if she admits that she was down by the river then?”

  “Less than ever. If she was actually near the scene of the murder, and has no one to cite as witness, where is she? It won’t help much to say: ‘I was there, but I didn’t do it!’”

  They had left the village now, and walked more slowly along the deserted road that followed the green valley, down which the Cwyll came from the distant mountains. Half a mile further on, they lit cigarettes, and sat on a dry stone-wall to wait for Bow and Mrs. Hayes.

  “Well, you couldn’t have done it,” said Joan, as she settled herself on her perch, and stared at a curlew that was wheeling over a field, and whistling mournfully. “So, if Mrs. Hayes and Mr. Bow didn’t, that leaves only a few suspects. Hoad, the man Davis, Mr. Chance, Mr. the postman—who else?”

  “We mustn’t exclude the chance that someone Hayes had come up against in the past followed him here.”

  “I suppose not. Now, Mr. Chance looks less and less a murderer to me every time I see him. But I suppose you’ll laugh at that as women’s intuition?”

  He grinned a little. “I don’t despise intuition, my dear girl. Now I’ll give you a silly little idea of my own to laugh at. I am more and more interested in Hoad’s looks. He’s cleared his mind of the business about the rotten anonymous letter, but he still looks as dismal as a wet night. I wonder if he has anything more on his mind.”

  “Perhaps he realises that, if he hadn’t written it, Mrs. Hayes wouldn’t have come down, and that poor girl would not have committed suicide.”

  “Perhaps he does. But I have been thinking it over. We agreed at first that that timid, rather cowardly type of young fellow might be capable of writing an anonymous letter, but not of murder. I doubt if our psychology was quite sound there. Now and again in schools we get the case of a timid boy being regularly bullied until he got into a frenzy and repaid the bullying with something quite out of proportion to the offence. He was on the pool next to Hayes, remember.”

  Joan did not forget it. “Yes; I do think a sheep goes rather mad, if it goes mad at all,” she answered slowly. “And quiet men blow up rather wonderfully once you get the right match for them. But I thought Hoad was hipped because Celia Mason hardly ever speaks to him now. She and Mrs. Hayes are so often together.”

  “Well, you may be right. It was only a guess,” said Wint. “But here comes Bow and Mrs. Hayes.”

  When they got down from the wall, and greeted the newcomers, Mrs. Hayes suggested that they should walk on. She looked as composed as ever, and of the two Bow was the more agitated, though there were slight traces of it on his face.

  “Mr. Bow has told me your theories,” said the older woman to Joan, as they set out again. “I thought them quite clever.”

  Joan thought “clever” was an odd word to use in this connection, but she replied quietly enough. “It seems one at least was true.”

  “Yes. I quite admit it. I was rather idiotic to act as I did, but when you come down suddenly one night to rescue a rural Andromeda, Miss Powis, and find another Perseus has anticipated you, you do not always hit on the right tactics.”

  “I suppose it is always wiser to tell the exact truth, Mrs. Hayes.”

  Mrs. Hayes laughed, not unpleasantly. “I am sure it is. I used to think so once, certainly. At any rate, Mr. Bow suggests that I should try
it for a change.”

  Bow smiled. “Caroline, you are irrepressible.”

  “But not irresponsible, as these two must think me,” she replied. “Shall we all turn up this lane, Miss Powis? I see a nice sunny bank above where we could sit while you hear my confession.”

  Seated on the grassy bank above, Mrs. Hayes began again. “Now you want to be thrilled. I’ll do my best for you. I was down near the river that night my husband was killed. Shall I tell you why?”

  Wint muttered that she must decide for herself. “We don’t want to ask for the details as long as you give them to Parfitt,” he added.

  She did not appear to hear him, but began to tell them about the letter she had received from Blodwen Tysin, and her journey down to Wales to stop the affair before it went any further.

  “I really meant to go right on to the hotel, stay the night, and tackle that most unpleasant business in the morning.” she added. But I had studied a large-scale map of this place, and when I reached the bridge below here, I thought I would discover something in the tunnels. So I drove my car over the bridge, and parked it in a sort of little approach to a quarry on the other side.”

  Wint looked at her sharply. “Did you see any other car parked there?”

  “You mean that poor girl’s? No, there was no car at the time near mine, but didn’t you say that you heard a car go back between eleven and a quarter past? I was later than that.”

  “I see. I merely wondered if you had met her.”

  “No. Though if I had, I am afraid the poor thing would not have been able to figure as a witness,” Mrs. Hayes replied. “I saw no one, from the time I left the car till I returned to it. That may convince you that it was not mere panic or guilt that led me to suppress some of the truth. Mr. Bow, of course, believes in me.” She paused there, and gave him a smile of singular sweetness; a revelation of the real nature of this usually composed and assured woman. “But I admit that I could excuse the Inspector if he did not. The fact is that I was obviously near where my husband was murdered that night, though I do not know when it took place. And I admit that we were not on good terms.”