Death on the Highway

by Death on the Highway (retail) (epub)

  “And so they ought to be,” declared the sergeant; “Miss Docket has made it very comfortable down there, sir. And there’s a stove where they can do a bit of cooking and make tea—and if they don’t bring anything with them they don’t seem to be allowed to go hungry. Of course, they’re not a bad lot, Mr. Harrison. Our experience of the genuine tramp in the country, although it may surprise you, is that one can trust them pretty well. I know most of them and I keep an eye on the kitchen myself as far as I can. I soon hear if there’s one in Great Crockham and, if he’s undesirable, he gets a hint from me to be off again. Still, the wrong type gets in sometimes and I may say, Mr. Harrison, quite honestly, I leave the others to deal with him. It may not be everybody’s idea of the law but he doesn’t usually come again.”

  “An excellent method,” said Harrison.

  “Still, Mr. Harrison, I’ve always warned Miss Docket of the risk she was taking.”

  “So have others,” said Miss Docket; “including Miss Rich, with the greatest regularity.”

  “Miss Docket is so kind-hearted, Mr. Harrison,” went on Griskin, “that she believes everybody else must be the same. But there are people in Great Crockham who have been very critical of the kitchen. They have said that the kitchen encouraged tramps to come to the place. You know, sir, the kind of people who say ‘you never know what will happen,’ rather hoping for the worst. They have even complained to me, and said that something terrible was bound to be the result. I’ve always defended Miss Docket, sir, you can be certain of that. And now something terrible has happened and they can all say, ‘I told you so.’ ”

  “You see, Mr. Harrison,” said Miss Docket, with a sorrowful note in her voice, “although Sergeant Griskin’s too much of a gentleman to say so, I’ve let him in as well. I’m afraid he’ll be held responsible for allowing me to go on.”

  “That can’t be helped, Miss Docket,” said the sergeant; “I’m not afraid for myself, but I must confess I am worried about the Jogger.”

  ‘‘I’m sure the Jogger couldn’t have done it,” said Miss Docket. “He’s not the sort of man to do a murder.”

  “So much for the background, Sergeant Griskin,” said Harrison. “Now for your facts.”

  “Last night there were three tramps in the kitchen,” replied the sergeant; “The Jogger, whom we know pretty well, and two others, Sam and Flick, both of whom have been here before.”

  “The Jogger was very often in and out of Great Crockham, and, I must say, we all rather liked him. A man of great strength but very gentle with it. One would not have thought he would do harm to anybody. He had a smattering of education, too. Not one of the gentlemen tramps you read about in books, of course, I’ve never met one of them myself, but he had rather a quick mind and could give you all sorts of odd hits of information. Sam and Flick were just the usual type. Not above a little bit of stealing occasionally, but only occasionally, and generally pretty quiet kind of men. I expect they tramped all over the country, doing a job here and there, and getting something for nothing if they saw half a chance. Real lovers of the open air and not nearly as frightening as their clothes might suggest.”

  “Very few of them are,” said Miss Docket.

  “According to what Sam and Flick told me, and they have told me precious little, another man appeared about midnight. I might say, Mr. Harrison, it is rather unusual for one to appear at such an hour. Of course, information about a place like Miss Docket’s kitchen is passed from one to another, but even then the real tramp is jealous of his little secrets, and such travellers as Sam and Flick would know practically all those who were likely to visit the kitchen, especially at such an hour—for that would suggest definite knowledge as to how to find the place.”

  “They didn’t recognise him?”

  “No, they didn‘t,” answered Sergeant Griskin, “and what is more, he was not a real tramp. A man of better type than themselves, they said, who was down on his luck. Of course they were a bit suspicious, but he seemed very convincing, and so they found him a corner and gave him some food. Or rather they offered him some, but he did not touch it, although he seemed pretty well all in.”

  “Is that unusual, do you think?” asked Harrison.

  “Sounds so to me,” was the answer; “but they thought he was turning up his nose at their food and were rather lurid about it. Still they seem to have talked a bit and all went off to sleep. At about five in the morning the stranger woke and so did the Jogger. As the Jogger was going to Millhead, the stranger suggested walking a bit of the way with him. The Jogger, so I gather, wasn’t a bit keen. He seems to have lost his temper in an argument with the stranger the night before and wasn’t feeling friendly.”

  “Did you gather what the argument was about?”

  “I tried to,” said the sergeant, “but the others were rather vague. The stranger said some place was in some part of England and the Jogger said it was somewhere else and lost his temper when the stranger stood him out.”

  “I think I can explain that,” interrupted Miss Docket. “His real name on the road is ‘Geography Joe,’ which eventually got to ‘the Jogger.’ He was rather vain about his knowledge of geography, and the others were rather proud of him, too. They told me he knew where every place in the world was, and I know his knowledge of England was pretty sound.”

  “And he lost his temper with the stranger about that?” asked Harrison.

  “It seems so,” answered the sergeant. “However, the Jogger got over it and went off with the stranger. That is about all the others are able, or willing to tell. A farm labourer was walking along a lane which runs out of the Millhead road about a mile from here soon after eight o’clock this morning when he saw something white sticking out of the ditch. He went to see what it was and found it was a hand. He jumped into the ditch to see if he could help in any way and found the body of a man. So he left it where it was and came and fetched me. I telephoned the Millhead police and told them and then went along.”

  “And the body was that of the strange tramp?”

  “It was,” said the sergeant. “Of course I did not know at the time. The Millhead people soon arrived and we got it out of the ditch. The man must have been in a terrible state. His body was fearfully undernourished. He must have been practically starving. We assumed at once that he had died of exposure. Appearances were all that way. But when we had made a careful examination we found he had a nasty wound on the back of the head—a blunt instrument of some kind.”

  “Nothing to do with his fall in the ditch?” asked Harrison.

  “No,” was the answer. “We could find no stone of any size to account for such a blow. The Millhead people got him away to their mortuary pretty quickly, and, curiously enough, nobody seemed to see them doing it. The lane is very quiet and the place was far enough down for it to be out of sight of the main Millhead road. I told the man who found the body not to talk too much and nothing has been said in Great Crockham.”

  How did you get on the track of the man you call the Jogger?” asked Harrison.

  “Well, there was nothing to identify the man by. His clothes were in rags and had been cheap, ready-made stuff, so they gave no help. His boots were in a bad state, too. There was nothing in any of his pockets, either. The Millhead police asked me to find out anything I could and so, as he looked like a tramp, I thought I had better start asking questions at Miss Docket’s kitchen. I’ve told you what Sam and Flick said, but even then I did not think that the Jogger could have had anything to do with it. Still the Jogger must have been the last person to see the man, so I went in to Millhead to see if I could find him. I soon came across him at a public-house where he and his friends regularly go.”

  “No attempt to hide himself?”

  “None at all. He greeted me cheerfully and offered me a drink. That was rather a shock, I must say. The Jogger isn’t often as flush as that. And I found that he had been treating others, too. So I took him to one side and asked him what it meant, and he said he had fo
und a ten-shilling note in the road just outside Millhead and was sharing his good luck.”

  “You thought it sounded rather thin?” asked Harrison.

  “I’m afraid I did,” replied Griskin; “and I got rather worried. I didn’t know what to do; but I thought that it was only right to treat him as a friend. So I told him exactly what had happened, and asked him if he could throw any light on it. He seemed really surprised, and then he told me that he had walked as far as the lane with the stranger, where they had parted. They had been on the most friendly terms all the way. The stranger had even admitted he was wrong. The Jogger saw the stranger turn into the lane and had then walked on to Millhead.”

  “Does the Jogger carry a stick?” asked Harrison.

  “Unfortunately he does,” said Griskin.

  “So things look pretty black for him,” said Harrison.

  “Very black indeed,” replied the sergeant. “I told him his position was very serious and he might be arrested. He could hardly believe it. Indeed, I could hardly believe it myself, but the facts looked pretty ugly. I took him along to Millhead police station and there we went through it all again. By this time, the doctor had made an examination. That made matters worse. There was no doubt that it was murder. The doctor thought that the blow might not have killed a man in a good state of health but he was certain the man died as a result of the blow. He must have died, too, just about the time when the Jogger and he reached the lane. And worst of all, the doctor said the blow could have been given by the stick which the Jogger had.”

  “Any marks on it?” asked Harrison.

  “No blood or hair, or anything like that,” said Griskin. “But that doesn’t help. It’s easy enough to clean up a stick. So we had no option but to charge him, and he’ll come up before the Millhead police court tomorrow morning.”

  “I don’t see what else you could have done,” said Harrison.

  “The Jogger didn’t do it,” said Miss Docket, quietly.

  “I can’t believe it myself, Miss Docket,” said Griskin, wearily. “But facts are facts.”

  “Enough to hang a man,” said Harrison.

  “Mr. Harrison, you don’t mean that?” asked Miss Docket, going very pale.

  “I’m afraid I do,” was the answer. “The quarrel, the money, the fact that they were together at that particular time. A poor tramp like the Jogger. The most ordinary prosecuting counsel couldn’t fail.”

  “How horrible,” cried the woman.

  “Have you any idea who the stranger is?” Harrison asked the sergeant. “None at all,” said Griskin. “They found nothing more at the mortuary. I took Sam and Flick over to Millhead this afternoon to identify him as the man who was here last night.”

  “And they did, of course?”

  “Oh, yes,” was the reply. “They weren’t keen on the job, but they had no hesitation.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They’re down in the kitchen,” answered the sergeant. “I talked it over with Miss Docket, and she thought they had better stay here for a while. The police may want to talk to them at any moment.”

  Harrison was amused at the last phrase. Sergeant Griskin had identified himself so successfully with the friends of the “Jogger” that he had almost forgotten his own position as a member of the force.

  “So the next thing to do is to see the two men,” said Harrison. “May I go down?”

  “I should be very disappointed if you didn’t,” said Miss Docket, with what Harrison thought might be the suspicion of a wink.

  “I’ll show you the way,” said Griskin. “I think you’d better go in the tramps’ front door. That will give you an idea of the place straight away.”

  The sergeant led the way out of the house, followed by Harrison and Henry. They went down the drive into the main road and walked a short distance along it. They then turned into a lane which seemed to run alongside Miss Docket’s property. Another turn into a side-road which obviously passed near the back of the house.

  Suddenly the sergeant gave a cry and began to run for his life down the side-road. What had attracted his attention had also caught Harrison’s eye—the gleam of a bright light some distance away. No sooner had the sergeant started to run than the light disappeared. Harrison and Henry followed, although not at such an impetuous pace, and came up with the sergeant who was standing disconsolately in the middle of the road.

  “Not a sign of anybody,” he said.

  “Will o’ the wisp,” said Henry.

  “Bicycle lamp or electric torch,” snapped the sergeant.

  “Will o’ the wisps disappear into thin air,” commented Henry, very solemnly.

  “Any field path nearby?” asked Harrison.

  “Yes,” said Griskin, “just across the road.”

  “I should think that explains it,” said Harrison. “Of course they might be hidden in the hedge.”

  “Hardly likely, sir,” said the sergeant. “I got here pretty quickly and flashed my lamp all round.”

  “Somebody out for a late stroll, I expect,” said Harrison. “When they heard you running thought it best to take no chances.”

  “Thought you were a tramp yourself,” said Henry.

  “People shouldn’t take late strolls,” said the sergeant.

  “Carried unanimously,” commented Henry. “Let’s get back to the house.”

  Chapter III

  The Ivory Five

  Clay Harrison, Henry and Sergeant Griskin made their way back along the side-road and, going through a small gate, found themselves at an open doorway at the back of the house. Above it a small electric lamp burned and a flight of stone steps led immediately from it down into the recesses of the house.

  Going down the steps, the three reached a large room with lime-washed brick walls. This has obviously been a cellar, but now contained a kitchen table and chairs and also a kitchener with a brightly glowing fire—it certainly deserved the name of Miss Docket’s Kitchen. In the roof was an electric lamp, fixed flat rather like a cabin light, and in the corner were neatly-piled narrow mattresses and a number of warm-looking rugs.

  There were two men in the room. One of them was sitting on a chair, staring gloomily into the fire, while the other was cooking something in a frying-pan over the kitchen range, at the side of which a saucepan was steaming.

  “Got the tea, Flick?” said the cook, taking no notice of the newcomers.

  “All right, Sam,” said the other, as if somewhat aggrieved at being roused out of his reverie. He felt in his pockets and produced what looked like a battered tobacco tin, which he handed to his friend.

  Sam, the cook, opened the tin and with a spoon scraped a sticky mess into the saucepan. To Harrison the mess appeared to be a mixture of condensed milk and raw tea leaves.

  “Supper’ll soon be ready, Flick,” said Sam.

  “I don’t feel like eating,” was the melancholy answer.

  “Must eat,” said Sam. “Refusing your sausage won’t help the Jogger.”

  “That’s true enough, Sam,” said Griskin, coming forward. “How’s things?”

  “What I says is how’s the Jogger,” replied Sam.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Griskin.

  “Then why put him in gaol?” asked Flick.

  “Couldn’t be helped,” said Griskin.

  “Couldn’t it, though,” snapped Sam, prodding angrily at a sausage.

  “I’ve brought someone who may be able to help him,” answered Griskin.

  Sam looked across at the stair on which Harrison was still standing. “Good lord, it’s Mr. Harrison,” he said. “Come along by the fire, sir. Flick, get up and let Mr. Harrison sit down.”

  Before Harrison could say a word of protest, Flick had jumped up with astonishing speed and was standing respectfully behind the chair like the most polished of man servants.

  “We didn’t think you were coming, sir,” said Sam.

  “You expected me, then?” asked Harrison.

  “
In a way we did, sir,” said Sam; “Miss Docket said she’d arrange it.”

  “It looks like a plot, sir,” said Griskin, with a laugh.

  “Miss Docket wins,” said Harrison.

  “You see, sir,” said Sam, apologetically, “she arranged for us to come to your meeting. We felt a bit out of place, so to speak, among that crowd, but Flick says, if it’s to help the Jogger it’s got to be done. She said she didn’t know whether you could help but, at any rate, we might as well have a look at you and see if we liked you.”

  “And if you did?”

  “She’d arrange for you to come down here.”

  “And if you didn’t?”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, we were to tell her or the Gr—Miss Rich—and she wouldn’t do anything.”

  “And you decided in my favour?”

  “You bet we did, sir,” said Sam, enthusiastically. “You talked as if you knew what you were talking about. Didn’t he, Flick?”

  “Right again, Sam,” was the terse reply.

  “But it got so late, sir,” continued Sam, “we thought Miss Docket hadn’t been able to do it.”

  “I seriously believe Miss Docket is able to do anything,” said Harrison, solemnly.

  “That’s true, sir,” said Sam.

  “And now what do you want me to do?” asked Harrison.

  “Well, sir,” Sam started and then hesitated.

  “Go ahead,” said Harrison.

  Sam looked doubtfully at Griskin.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” said Harrison. “The sergeant is quite as friendly as I am.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sam, “but—”

  “You’re not going to say anything more in front of me,” said Griskin. “Is that it?”